


How I Spent My Summer Vacation

by studentnumber24601 (queenitsy)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Closeted Character, Epic, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-15
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 168,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/pseuds/studentnumber24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern-day newsboys at summer camp. Will wacky hijinks ensue? Gee, ya think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Family Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written between May 2004 and July 2007 -- the first few chapters are pretty rough, but I promise it improves. It's got a cast of hundreds and a bunch of subplots, but focuses pretty tightly on Jack, David, Blink, and Racetrack. (There was a casting call when it originally went up on FFnet; those folks all belong to themselves.)
> 
> Man, I don't even know *what* to tag this sucker with.

The three Jacobs children sat around the dinner table as they did nearly every night, but this night was different. _And why on this night do my parents give each other nervous looks, when on every other night they're busy berating me for being a social failure?_ David asked himself in some sort of twisted parody of a Passover sedar, having finished the spring holiday a few weeks ago, and still feeling grateful he could eat bread again. _Because on this night, they have some sort of really bad news._

He knew that was the answer. That was _always_ the answer when they were so quiet, glancing at each other and waiting for the right moment to make some sort of family announcement.

Les was more than happy to pick up the slack from their parents' quietness, though. "So then, Mrs. Applebeam said that if Robbie and I didn't be quiet we wouldn't get to go out at recess, but we _was_ quiet, so"

"Were, darling," Esther corrected absently.

"We _were_ quiet, it was just because Robbie had to tell me about this great game he learned to play at recess, where you take a ball like a tennis ball or something, but I guess it could be a bouncy ball but it's gotta be _small_ 'cause a big ball like a basketball or a soccer ball won't work, but soccer balls don't bounce too good anyway"

"Well, not good."

"too _well_ anyway, 'cause they're made to kick around on the ground, not bounce off the floor. Now, a basketball might have worked, but it was too big, 'cause"

_"Les,"_ Sarah interrupted. "Shut _up."_

"Hey!" he pouted.

"No one else cares about basket balls or _whatever_ you're babbling about!"

"No one cares about you, either."

Les kicked Sarah under the table, and she kicked back, and he began to cry, and Mrs. Jacobs made them move so that David was sitting between them. _Great,_ David sighed. _Just perfect. So what's going on, Mom?_ Because normally, Mrs. Jacobs would have been much more likely to scold her children for violence.

David pushed the peas on his plate around. "David, what's the matter?" his mother demanded. "You haven't eaten a thing, you look half-starved. Eat up!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at your mother."

David bit back a comment and choked down a forkful of peas. His father glanced over at his mother again_This is it,_ David thoughtand began to speak. "Now, your mother and I have been thinking. What were your plans for this summer, David?"

_Oh, no. Not this._ "I'm not sure, I was thinking I could spend the summer writing, or"

"Writing? What, you'll never go outside and see the sun? Or spend time with your friends?" Esther interrupted.

"Like he _has_ any friends," Sarah muttered, and David stomped on her foot under the table. It may have been a decent point, but still. He was happy enough, lost in his own world most of the time, even if his own family thought he was a loser.

"David, your mother and I have a better idea for you. We think you ought to spend the summer at a camp somewhere, _doing_ things, with _people,_ like a normal teenager."

"Dad!" he yelped. He'd expected something, but not _that._ "Normal sixteen year olds do _not_ go to camp!"

"Of course they do," he said. "You'll get some real outdoors time, learning to ride horses and sail and swim. Like a _normal teenager."_

"I _am_ normal!"

"Yeah, right," Sarah muttered, and pulled away when he tried to stomp on her foot again, causing him to miss and thud hard against the floor, jamming his ankle. He suppressed the urge to swear. Then, knowing his parents, he'd be off to a military camp instead of just any old camp.

"You can't do this to me," he continued.

"We aren't doing something terrible to you, David," Esther sighed, "we're trying to _help_ you."

"Butbut you _can't!_"

"Oh, don't worry. You won't be all alone, after all, your brother and sister will be there. You'll have friends already," Mayer explained.

_"What?"_ Sarah shrieked. "Why are you making _me_ go? I'm _normal!"_

"We think it might be good for you, too, darling," Esther said gently. "To get you away from the malls and shops for a few months, remind you what life is all about."

"But Mo-_om,_ I can't go"

"What do you think, Les?" Mayer interrupted, ignoring the pleas of his only daughter.

"It sounds great!" Les squeaked excitedly. His parents beamed, and for the first time in quite awhile, Sarah and David agreed on something: the urge to strangle their youngest brother.

"And Sarah, there's quite a bit of riding, and we _know_ you love horses."

"But"

"No buts," Mayer said, deciding to end the conversation. "We have the camp information packet already, you're all already signed up. You leave the week after school ends."

David's heart sank. "I'm not hungry," he muttered. "Can I be excused?"

"Oh, don't be silly, David. You haven't _touched_ your potatoes, a skinny boy like you needs to bulk up before the summer!"


	2. Check-In Day

Jack stared out at the lake, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee clutched in the other. It was past sunrise, but still early morning, and a slight mist was rising off the water.

"No smoking on camp property," came a reminder behind him.

Jack flicked the ashes from the end of the cigarette.

"Or at least, keep it behind the boat shed or staff housings, like everyone Else."

He took a final drag and gave up, dropped the cigarette to the wooden deck and crushed the remaining cinders with a sneaker before the wood could singe.

"...And don't forget to hide the evidence," someone else reminded him, a female voice this time.

"You two come out here to make out or what?" Jack asked, turning away from the lake to face the two who'd interrupted him, kicking the cigarette off the deck and under a bush as he turned. Both of the people who'd joined him were senior counselors at the camp, several years older than he was, and they hid the fact that they were dating about as effectively as Jack hid his cigarette addiction.

"Came to check on you, actually," Paint offered. She was the younger of the two and her camp name matched the paint stains on her official camp T-shirt, excusable because she was, after all, the arts and crafts counselor.

"Why'd you want to do that?"

"'Cause it's your first year as a counselor," put in Paint's boyfriend, Sneakers, the archery counselor. "And you're barely older than the kids. Most of them were your bunkmates last year... Thought you might be nervous."

"I'm fine."

"Come on, it's breakfast. We've only got an hour before check in starts."

"I figured I'd spend the last hour without campers in peace," Jack answered.

"The lake _is_ awfully peaceful," Paint acknowledged. "Well, if you're sure you're okay..."

"Sneakers!"

The voice cut through the calm; it wasn't obnoxious, just loud. In unison, the three counselors turned to see one of the camp administrators waving a clipboard at them. "We finalized the bunk assignments!"

"Yeah, fine," Sneakers called back, and the clipboard bearing camp nurse came to join them. "So?"

"So, well... The way it works out, we _will_ be putting a new boy in Pentland with you."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Jack asked. He'd lived in Pentland the summer before, when he was still a mere camper; Pentland was the bunk traditionally reserved for boys who'd been at the camp for five or six years, at least. They all already knew each other and had established cliques, which made it difficult for new kids to break in.

"I wouldn't worry. The boys in Pentland are... Nice," the nurse said.

Sneakers and Jack shot each other suspicious looks. "Nice," Jack repeated slowly. "Not quite the word I'd have picked. They _are_ the same kids who were there last year, right?"

"Well, the new boy's name is David, and I'm sure you can look out for him, Sneakers," the nurse finished, cheerfully ignoring Jack's comment. "I've got to go hand out meds, and don't forget to drink a lot of water if you're carrying luggage up and down hills all day."

*

"...And I want you to write home every day, or at least once a week. Oh, I'm just going to miss you so much, it'll be so different not to have the three of you around the house!"

David bit back the urge to point out that if his mother was going to miss having him around the house, she maybe shouldn't force him to go to camp to begin with. But that seemed futile at this point; they'd had the argument a handful of times already, and here he was, standing in a dirt parking lot with a trunk and bags of bedding lying in the dust at his feet, while his mother enthusiastically hugged each of her children in turn.

"Now, David, _try_ and have a good time, please?" she begged. "Promise me you'll_ try?"_

"Yes, Mom," he groaned. "I'll try."

"That's my boy." She pinched his cheeks and he winced, then gave her the obligatory kiss on the cheek in return. He half-hugged his father and watched silently as his parents got back into the car for the trip home, abandoning their three children for the next eight weeks.

He had to admit that the check in process was streamlined; no sooner than they'd unpacked the family station wagon had the camp nurse checked off their names and waved down counselors to help move their things into bunks and get them set up. The three counselors had already assured their parents they'd be taken care of, and so Esther and Mayer left without even seeing the main camp grounds.

Well, without _really_ seeing them. A good amount was visible from the parking lot, as the camp was built on a fairly steep hill that sloped down towards the lake, leveling out only for a few playing fields in the middle. If it hadn't been for a few trees in the way, the whole of the main camp grounds would have been visible.

Sarah and the female counselor who was helping her gathered her things. She took enough time before heading off to hiss in David's ear, "Remember, we've never seen each other before. And we're _definitely_ not related."

"Just like school," he answered, and made a face at her back as she walked away.

"So, Les," the counselor whose nametag identified him as Cowboy started, picking up a few bags, "is this your first time at camp?"

"Yeah," Les said. "Are you a _real_ cowboy?"

"Well, when I ain't here for the summer, I work on a ranch in New Mexico... So yeah, I guess I'm a real cowboy."

Les's eyes went wide, but before David could stop himself, he said snidely, "Yeah, sure, I'll bet _all_ the ranch hands out west talk with a thick New York accent."

The counselor started to answer, then stopped and shrugged instead. He shot David an agreeable grin, apparently not too upset that he'd been caught.

The other counselor, Sneakers according to his nametag, snickered and elbowed Cowboy in the side. "C'mon, both bunks are this way. This is the boy's half of camp; the girl's half looks just about the same, but if you're caught over there you're in a _lot_ of trouble, so don't get too curious."

David nodded a little, paying more attention to trying to memorize the path they were taking than the speechthough he did wonder if the speech had been prewritten, or just delivered enough times that Sneakers didn't have to think about it as he spoke. It seemed just a little too smooth.

Cowboy and Les chattered back and forth as the group walked, until their paths split, and David's began to slope back uphill. He panted a little bit, not used to the steep hills or rough terrain. "Don't worry, you'll be in good shape by the end of the summer. Play soccer?"

"No."

"Too bad; camp was always the best way for me to get in shape for the season. There." He stopped and pointed through a few trees, towards two large bunks. "I'm your bunk counselor, my name's Sneakers."

"Yeah, I figured. I can read real well."

"That's better than most of your bunkmates." Sneakers rolled his eyes, as they approached the cabins. They were almost identical, built with a door on either end and a large porch out front. Lots of windows, electricitynot all the cabins had it, according to the camp brochure, and David was relieved to see his didand bathrooms inside. The senior units were the nicest ones in the camp. _Thank God for small favors..._

They walked up the steps to the bunk labeled _Pentland_.

*

"So who's back this summer?" Blink asked.

"Jack's a counselor now, Rich and Rob are, too," Mush said, sitting backwards on a chair and leaning over the top of the back.

"Sneakers and Paint were up at check in," Racetrack put in from his position lying on his bed.

"And I ran into a _lot_ of people down at the waterfront," Snitch added, bouncing a tennis ball off the wall and catching it. "Swinger and her sister, and Hotshot, and your _best_ friend, Blink."

"Don't tell me."

"Smurf," he finished.

Blink groaned and kicked the leg of the bed he was sitting on. "Well, that's just _great."_

"It won't be so bad," Mush reassured him, standing up and turning the chair around so he could sit more comfortably. "Come on, it's our last year, let's make the best of it."

"Yeah. Hey, ain't it Spot's third year?"

"Hey, it _is,"_ Snitch agreed, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I _totally_ call hazing him. It's gonna be _fun."_

"Speaking of hazing," Blink murmured, and nodded towards the doorway. Their newest bunkmatethe only one they'd never met beforehad finally arrived.


	3. The Rest Of the Day, and Some Of the Night

"Awright, so that's Racetrack, Snitch, Mush and the one who looks like a pirate is Kid Blink," Sneakers said, pointing at the Italian kid, the one with the tennis ball and giant teeth, the curly haired boy with darker skin, and the blond with an eye patch in turn.

"Uh, right," David said, as Sneakers dropped his duffle bag at the foot of one of the four bunk beds, and pointed at the top bunk.

"You're up there," Sneakers said. "So once you're unpacked, you've gotta do a riding test and swim test. Do you ride?"

"Not really," David said, as he dragged his trunk over to the bed he'd been assigned.

"Scared of horses?" the tennis-playing kid asked.

"No. I just don't ride."

"He's scared," Blink murmured to Mush, who laughed.

"Be nice, Blink," Sneakers said. "So you're new, and I'm not gonna bother with this stuff for the rest of the guys, because they all know it. But curfew for seniors is ten, lights out is eleven. Wakeup call is seven Mondays through Saturdays, Sundays you can either get up for breakfast at nine or skip it and sleep until eleven, unless you want to go to Church."

"I'm Jewish," David said.

"Then no church, I take it. Oh, right" he turned to Race. "I'm supposed to get you up Sundays, right?"

"Yeah," Race groaned.

"Okay. Anyone else?" There was a long silence. "That's what I figured."

"Oh, like _you're_ going to be getting up on Sundays," Snitch accused.

Sneakers shrugged. "No activities until one on Sunday," he told David. "Otherwise, there's activities from nine-thirty until twelve, then lunch, then activities two until five, dinner at six, and evening sports or whatever until the little kids have curfew. Then you're free to do whatever you wantwithin reasonuntil curfew. Got all that?"

"Uh... I think so."

"Good. You'll figure it out really fast, don't worry. Oh, and there are three bells before meals; one a half-hour before, one fifteen minutes, and one when the dining hall opens for everyone."

"'Kay."

"Like I said, you'll catch on real fast. Hey, I gotta get back up to the check-in table, one of you guys want to take him to riding and the waterfront?"

There was a long silence.

"I can find" David started.

"Race?" Sneakers interrupted. "You wanna make yourself useful?"

"Yeah, sure," Racetrack agreed. Sneakers thanked him, waved a little, and let himself back out of the cabin. "Let's go," Race said. "Riding first, so you can cool off an' get the scent of the horses off in the water. You'll wanna dig out your towel an' stuff, though."

David did as he suggested, and looked around him, vaguely paranoid. No one was talking, not to each other and not to him. He felt like an intruder; it was obvious that everyone already knew each other and they didn't especially want an interloper. "So, uh," he said finally, "who's bed is that?" He gestured at the middle bunk bed, the one where the kid with the tennis ball_Snitch,_ he recalled, and wondered how he got the nicknamewas sitting.

"Skittery's. He's probably at riding," Snitch said, as David found his towel and swim trunks.

"Let's go," Race offered, standing finally. He and David walked out and headed out of the Senior Boys unit, then back uphill and around the cabins they'd just come out of. "Don't mind everyone, we just aren't used to new guys living in Pentland. You'll get to know everyone pretty fast."

"How'd you get your nickname?" David asked, slightly more comfortable talking to just one person than facing a whole new group.

"It's... 'cause I like racin' so much," Race said.

"Okay."

"Actually, it's from gambling, racing horses and all, but as far as my family knows it's because I like racing. Ya got that?"

"I guess." He shrugged a little, wondering why Race would be so emphatic about his family not knowing about the nickname, since it wasn't like anyone's parents would be wandering around camp. _Well, parent's day, maybe,_ he figured.

They came up on the stables and riding area, crawling with kids and counselors. Race led him to one of the counselors, whose nametag identified him as Ratcatcher, though everyone was calling him by his real name, Morris. "What do you want?" he demanded of Race.

"Not me, him." Race gave David a little push forward. "He needs his riding test."

"New kid, huh?" Morris asked with a leer, then turned around to yell at one of the other campers.

Race leant over and mumbled in David's ear, "He's the head of the riding unit... Talks tough, so does his brother" he pointed at one of the other counselors, who looked vaguely similar, "but they ain't really so bad. Once you get used to them."

"Uh, okay," he agreed, as Morris turned back to them.

"So you're new. Bet you think you can ride like a pro, huh?"

"No," David said. Morris looked almost disappointed that he wouldn't get to disillusion David. "I actually don't ride."

"You planning to this summer?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well figure it out real fast, kid, so I can put you on the lesson schedule with the babies."

David almost winced at that. "I don't think so," he decided quickly. Better not to ride than to get put in a group with the babies... And besides, he didn't really like the way the riding counselors were yelling and figured avoiding them was safest.

And he didn't especially like horses.

"No point in testing you then, is there?" Morris snapped. "Get outta here, I got better things to do."

David was more than happy to do as asked. They only paused on the way out of the stables for long enough to meet his other bunkmate, Skittery. "You should reconsider riding," was his first comment. "I used to be real scared toogot my nickname 'cause I was more skittish than the horsesbut they can't keep me out of the stables now." He grinned.

"I'm not scared of horses."

"Suuuure you're not," he said. "Nothing to be ashamed of, just because you're a teenager who's afraid of a harmless"

"I am _not_ afraid. I just... Don't like them. I had a bad experience once."

"Bit? Thrown? What?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Whatever, fraidycat. Hey Race, he got a nickname yet?"

"Nope."

"Can we call him Fraidycat?"

"I ain't gonna stop you. But you know you sound like a six year old, right?"

Skittery frowned. "Fine," he said. "But we'll think of a nickname for you, don't worry."

David was more worried that they _would_ think of a nickname for him, but decided not o say so. He and Racetrack started back across the campit seemed to be all the way acrossto get to the waterfront. They stopped in a shed off of the waterfront so David could change, though he didn't feel quite comfortable with it, as sunlight filtered inside through numerous gaps between the wall boards, and he heard distinctly female giggling coming from not far away.

The waterfront itself was set beneath a steep drop off on the hill; not quite a sheer cliff, but it felt like it to David as he half-hiked, half-slid down the winding path, nearly tripping several times over gnarled tree roots. This time, Race pointed him towards a much less hostile seeming counselor; a tall guy with curly hair and glasses, wearing swimming trunks with no shirt. His nametag had been attached to his shorts, but was now water-stained and unreadable, but he introduced himself as Specs.

"So the test is pretty easy," he said encouragingly. "You get in the water. And then swim a lap around there." He pointed to what had been designated the "deep end," which was really just an area out past the end of the dock, marked off with buoys and blue plastic rope. A floating dock bobbed at the far side, with another swimming counselor on it. She looked almost too young to be a counselor, definitely too short, with a pair of glasses, and a pair of oversized goggles pushed up onto her forehead, holding her short hair back out of her eyes.

"Uh," David asked. "Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Um..."

"I said it was easy. If you drown, you fail and you have to stay off of the boats until you can pass. If you pass, I put you in a swimming group, unless you look like you can place out of it. Which most people your age can. Mostly it's just the little kids who take swim classes." He waved towards the counselor on the dock and she waved back, and Specs told David to go whenever he was ready.

"'Kay," David agreed, once again overcome by a fear of being put in a group with the little kids. _Because what would really make my life easier this summer is to humiliate myself and have to swim classes with my little brother,_ he thought to himself. But unlike riding, he didn't have an easy out... But then again, also unlike riding, he didn't have an aversion to swimming and he finished the lap smoothly.

Race tossed him his towel, and Specs seemed satisfied. "I'll put you in the upper level group for now; you'll probably place out of it in a week or two. Sound good?"

"I, uh, guess."

"Cool. See you, then. Oh, Race, you wanna tell him about the tag system?"

Race agreed, and they walked off, stopping at a large board, covered with a grid of hooks, each hook holding up a metal tag. Race scanned the tags, then found one with David's name on it and handed it to him. One side was green, the other was white. "Green means your in the water, white means you ain't. There's one on the boating beach, too. Flip it when you go to the waterfront and back when you go back, so they know no one's drowned and been forgotten about."

"Okay," David said, and hung it back up, white side out. He finished drying off, threw his towel over his shoulder, and they began to scale the cliff back up to the main section of camp. "So what now?"

"Now we can kill time until dinner."

*

David's head hurt, and if people didn't stop singing he was, in fact, going to strangle each and every one of them. It wasn't even the constant singing around him that was annoying, it was _what_ they were singing. Camp songs. He clenched a fist and tried to ignore the girl screaming "Rise and shine and give god your glory glory!" in his ear.

It wasn't easy, though. She was shrill.

"Hey, Dave, you ain't singing," the camper next to him half-yelled in his ear, as there was no other way to be heard over the din of every camper in the place screaming something insipid about Noah's Ark. He glanced over; it was Mush, one few people he'd met who hadn't made him feel like a total outsider.

"Don't know the words," he half-yelled back.

"What are you, stupid?" asked one of his other bunkmates, crowded in next to him, close enough to smell his sweat. That was the blond one with the eye patch, who slept in the bed over Mush's. "It ain't like they're hard to learn!"

David decided not to reply, and wondered how stupid camp traditions like this one got started. The whole camp was crowded around in front of the dining hall, packed tight together, singing like there was no tomorrow. Sneakers had warned David about it on the way to the dining hall and promised that anyone they caught not singing was singled out for humiliation. "Better than it used to be," he'd assured David cheerfully. "Used to be anyone who they caught not singing didn't get to eat."

The eye patch kidBlink, that was his namehad a point, though. The words were repetitive enough that anyone _should_ be able to learn them in about two minutes flat. He half-heartedly began to mouth along with the chorus. Mush jostled his shoulder, probably an attempt at a reassuring gesture, and mouthed something that looked like "Atta boy!" but could have been anything. David gave him a fake smile and went back to pretending none of it was happening.

The door to the dining hall creaked open and one of the counselors stepped out, a long computer printout clutched in hand. She climbed on top of a chair and yelled in a drill sergeant like voice, loud enough to cut through the din of a hundred screaming campers, "O_KAY,_ LISTEN _UP!"_

And remarkably, everyone fell silent. _That_ was screaming power.

"I'm sorry we're late, but with the rush of getting everyone moved in, it took longer than we thought to work out the seating assignments. So I'll read them off and if I catch _one person_ talking while I'm reading, you're in a lot of trouble! The rest of the summer we'll have these posted before breakfast on Monday mornings, got that? Okay!"

She began to read off names and tables, and Mush leaned over to hiss in David's ear, "That's Lark. Medda, actually, but her camp name is Lark, right? She's in charge of the theater. Really good at"

_"MISTER MEYERS,_ what did I say about talking while I'm talking?"

He had the good grace to feign embarrassment. "Sorry, Medda," he apologized quickly, and as soon as she went back to reading continued, "at getting people's attention. Knows me real well by this point, I spend way too much time in the theater." He laughed at himself a little and continued, "I'm probably the only straight male Broadway geek you'll ever meet."

"are at table six, and _MISTER MEYERS if I catch you talking one more time I will lose my patience with you,_ and at table seven we have..."

David listened for his name, but didn't hear it. Which meant that either he'd been forgotten, or she'd called it out while he was listening to Mush, and as he'd heard Sarah and Les's names, probably he'd just missed it. She finished reading and tacked the printout to a bulletin board on the wall of the dining house. The crowd surged forward, apparently now allowed entrance to the dining hall. David did his best to maneuver himself to the side, so he could check the list, but it was like fighting the tide and the rush of bodies pulled him in.

Now stuck inside the dining hall, he looked around nervously. The only faces he recognized were familythough obviously he wasn't going to ask _them_ for helpand his bunkmates, all of whom had already found their seats and were talking with their friends. He stared around, hoping to figure out where to sit by finding a free seat, but there were too many unclaimed chairs for that to work. He glanced back at the door and wondered if anyone would notice if he ducked back outside to check the list.

Probably. But he didn't have much of a choice. He started to edge backwards, but the door slammed shut and a hand grabbed his shoulder. It was the red-haired counselor Mush had dubbed LarkMedda?and she smiled cheerfully. "Shouldn't have been talking while I was, dear."

"Uh..." he managed, wanting to point out he'd been talked _to_ though he hadn't said a word, but it seemed futile, because she slipped back into drill sergeant voice and called out, "We seem to have a lost camper here!"

David wanted to sink into the floor as every pair of eyes in the place turned to stare at him. He could feel his face turning red. Someone shouted a catcall at him and he really, really wished the floor would open up and swallow him. "Now, now, none of that!" Medda said, cutting off whoever had been yelling. "What's your name, hon?"

"Uh, David. Jacobs."

"I see, now, did anyone hear David Jacobs' name on the list? I'm sure those of you who _really_ pay attention must have."

Someone across the room waved. "You're over here, Dave!" The voice was familiar, but David had met too many new people in the past few hours for that to be any help. Medda gave him a gentle push towards the right table and disappeared to her own. Hesitantly, he walked towards the voice, wishing he could see clearly past the other tables.

It wasn't until he was about to sit down that he recognized the fake cowboy from New York, grinning. He'd pulled his slightly too long hair out of his eyes and held it back with a red bandanna, and still had the nametag labeling him Cowboy. "So you new or what, Dave?" he asked, somehow managing to put about six extra vowels in the name Dave without making the world an extra syllable long. It was actually fairly impressive.

"Uh, yeah."

Cowboy offered him a hand to shake, which he did hesitantly. "Jack Kelly when I ain't at camp. You got a nickname yet?"

"Nope."

"That's a shame. I'm sure you'll have one soon, though, knowing the guys you're living with. You're the one in Pentland, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You gonna keep starting all your sentences with 'uh'?"

David didn't have an answer for that, but could tell the blush hadn't left his face yet.

"So we getting dinner or what, Cowboy?" demanded one of the other campers at the table.

"Yeah, yeah. Soon's Ally gets out here with it..." Cowboy turned around and glanced over his shoulder. David followed his gaze and could see a handful of campers wandering out from another doorwaypresumably the kitchencarrying dishes. One of them, a girl who looked too small to be balancing that many dishes and who had pigtails that seemed too long for her body, stopped at their table and unloaded them, then clamored into the last open space.

Each table held eight or ten campers, depending on how crowded they were, with a counselor at the table's head. David was sitting on Cowboy's left; the girl who'd brought their food outAlly, he assumedwas across from him.

"Hey, kids" Cowboy said, reaching for what looked like the main course, some sort of meat though it was hard to tell what kind, "why don't you introduce yourselves to the new guy, huh?"

"Please tell me I'm not the only new person at the camp," David muttered, mostly to himself.

"Nope, just the only one in Senior Boys," Cowboy answered, passing the first plate of stuff down. "Ian, you start."

The first boy was Ian, who was in his third year, from Miami and he looked it, with tanned skin and spiked blond hair. "They tried to give me a nickname," he said, warily eyeing the food he was passing down to the other end of the table. "Nothing stuck, soIan."

David hoped he'd be so lucky, but didn't say so aloud. Nicknames weren't really his thing.

There were two girls sitting at the table, who could only be described as "tiny." The first was Alister, who'd gotten their foodshe was their "hopper," David was informedand she also managed to avoid having a real nickname. Ally was the closest she got. The second was one of her bunkmates and also tiny, though she looked a bit older; she introduced herself as Curly. One of the other boys had red curls and introduced himself as Snipeshooter; he was probably a few years older than Les. The only other person who jumped out at him was a girl who was around his age, with two blue streaks dyed into her hair and wire-rimmed glasses. "Smurf," she offered. "And no, it's not because of the hair."

"I wasn't going to ask," David answered, which was true. He honestly hadn't cared that much.

Cowboy finished serving their meals and attention was called back to the front of the room, though this time, it wasn't Medda. An older woman with black hair, going grey now, clearly, rang a small bell and called for grace. David glanced at her, then scanned the room for one of his bunkmatesthe Italian kid everyone had called Racetrack. Surprising similarities.

The woman identified herself as Maria Higgins, one of the camp's owners, and that confirmed it; Racetrack's last name was Higgins too. _No wonder he was so paranoid about his family finding out about his nickname,_ David realized, as Mrs. Higgins said a quick grace. The campers began to eat, though the food was fairly iffy.

Most of the meal was uneventful, until they were just finishing up. Blink was sitting at a nearby table and he stood for a minute, apparently walking over to ask a friend a question, taking his glass with him and... David wasn't quite sure how, but the knock-off non-name brand kool-aide somehow ended up all over Smurf. And judging by the look on Blink's face, it wasn't an accident.

Smurf tensed and froze as the liquid splashed over her, looking like nothing so much as the victim of a sliming on _You Can't Do That On Television._ She shut her eyes and wiped the juice off of her face.

"Oops," Blink said innocently.

She stood up and turned around to face him. "Oh, that's alright, Kid," she said in a voice that was far too calm to be, well, calm. "I know it's 'cause you know I'm gonna kick your butt at every single race this year."

He narrowed his eye. "We'll see about that," he snapped.

She grinned and David noticed her fingers working their way across what remained on her plate, and saw her scoop up some of what was probably supposed to be mashed potatoes. This time, he saw what was coming, and started to warn Blink, but it was too late.

Smurf moved quickly, flinging the potatoes and catching the blind side of Blink's face. She giggled.

"Oh, that's _it"_ he snapped, despite having started it.

"Hey!"

Jack was standing now and in a second's time, managed to get himself between the two. Another counselorDavid recognized him as Specs from the waterfronthad also jumped to his feet and put a not-at-all subtle hand on Blink's shoulder.

"Sit down, both of you," Specs demanded

"But my _hair"_

Jack rolled his eyes. "Blink, go siddown," he said. "Smurf, go change and get back here fast. Okay?"

She nodded and pulled her drippy hair from her eyes, and walked out of the dining hall, "accidentally" shouldering Blink out of her way as she did so. Jack sat back down, and Specs stood over Blink until he took his seat as well, then sat.

David could have sworn he heard Jack mumble something along the lines of, "I need a cigarette," but maybe he was hearing things.

"Gonna be a long summer, man," Ian noted.

"No kiddin'. Awright kids"

"Since when do you call us kids, Jack?" Snipeshooter laughed.

"Since I'm a counselor an' you ain't," he answered.

"Oh, whatever. You ain't a real counselor, you're... Jack," Snipeshooter answer.

Jack froze for a second, not sure how to react to that, then decided to ignore it and continued, "So, _kids,_ let's get our dishes taken care of so we can get desert while there's some left."

"Desert?" David asked.

Ian shrugged. "It's usually not worth it. Unless you really, really like badly cooked lemon bars."

*

David stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. It wasn't that there was anything in particular on his mind, other than a realization that, if anything, at camp he fit in less than at school. He'd expect that, though. Mostly he couldn't sleep because his bed just wasn't very comfortable, and he was used to the sounds of suburbia at night, not chirping insects and wind and trees. He frowned. Did trees make noise? Well, probably the wind _through_ the trees, then.

A different sound broke him out of his half-coherent thoughts: a creaking hinge, followed immediately by someone hissing "Shhhh!"

He rolled over to face the offending door, and saw someone crouched outside. No, several someones. "It's time," the closest someone murmured, barely audible.

Mush and Blink's bunk was closest to the door; Mush sat up and woke Blink, and by the time Blink was up, Snitch and Skittery were awake as well. Racetrack sat up on the bunk underneath David, then stood. "You comin', Dave?" he asked quietly, shooting apprehensive looks at their slumbering counselor.

"Coming where?"

"It's tradition." Race grinned. "We're gonna go meet the girls somewhere."

"Uh." David glanced around nervously. On the one hand, this was probably extremely stupid; on the other hand, he was already out of place, and couldn't imagine how much worse it would be if he didn't go. He nodded a little and let himself down the ladder, while everyone else quietly scurried out.

He paused to dig around in his luggage for a moment, trying to be silent but needing a flashlight, and as he grasped it glanced over at Sneakers' bunk. Sneakers was lying on his side now, and the light from outside caught his eyes. He was awake, and staring at David, who's features contorted into a look of horror. He opened his mouth to try and come up with a lame excuse, but Sneakers shook his head a little and raised a finger to his lips, the international sign for "keep your damn mouth shut."

He stood there for another second, frozen, waiting for Sneakers to react. Finally, Sneakers rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion, as though hurrying David out the door. David hesitated, and Sneakers made a big point of shutting his eyes and rolling over, facing away from the door.

_Well, I can take a hint, I guess..._ David thought, vaguely confused. But he let himself out of the cabin and clicked on the flashlight, then hurried to catch up with the quickly disappearing group of boys, wondering what had just happened. _Sneakers used to be a camper here... I guess he understand there traditions... Nice of him to let me go, I guess._

But he couldn't entirely shake off the feeling that this tradition was a really, really stupid idea.


	4. Revenge Is Sweet

David flicked the flashlight on and listened to the chatter around him. His bunkmates he knew, but the only person from the other bunk he knew was Ian, from his dinner table. There were a few conversations going on, mostly people getting caught up on what people had done since the last summer. Finally, Racetrack tapped some skinny kid from the other bunk on the shoulder and asked where they were meeting the girls.

"Boat beach," he answered.

"How creative."

"You gotta better idea? The waterfront's too easy to get caught, tennis is in the middle of anything, you can hear archery from Senior Girls, and horses smell."

"They do not."

"Do so," he answered emphatically.

"I've really got a bad feeling about this," David said, mostly to himself, sweeping the flashlight around nervously.

"Aw, don't worry about it, Dave," said a kid with a nasal voice who was walking with a crutch.

"Gee, it's so nice to be where everybody knows my name," he answered, hoping the fake cheeriness in his voice would be taken as sarcasm, the way he meant it.

"Ain't it, though? Hey, my name's Crutchy."

_Guess not,_ David thought to himself, but decided to at least pretend to be polite. His mother was constantly telling him if he would just open up, he'd make friends so much more easily. _And that's why I'm here. To make friends. Because I'm a social failure._

At least here, surrounded by total strangers, Sarah would likely be as miserable as he was. _Then again, she makes friends easily. That's why she's the normal one, and I'm the loser._

*

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Sarah asked nervously, as they tromped out of the bunk.

"If you don't like it, don't come," one of her bunkmates said flatly, walking past her and elbowing her out of the way as she went.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at the girl's back.

"Hotshot, be nice," scolded one of the other girls.

"Was I being mean?" Hotshot asked innocently. "If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to. No one's _forcing_ her." She looked back at Sarah and smirked through the dim light.

Shakes, the girl who'd been scolding Hotshot, rolled her eyes and dropped back to talk to Sarah. "Don't mind her, she's just... Difficult to get to know."

"Whatever," Sarah answered. Most of the girls in her bunk hadn't seemed so bad; already set into their cliques, but not actively hostile. But somehow, Sarah had found herself taking an instant disliking to Hotshot, a feeling that was totally mutual.

There was a sound up ahead, and whoever was in the lead hissed at everyone to be quiet. The group froze and waited a moment; a flashlight skipped along the grass near them, not quite catching the feet of the front girls. It clicked back off and the footsteps moved on.

"Close call," one of the girls—the vaguely gothy one wearing the Rocky Horror T-shirt—murmured.

"Shhh," hissed one of the other girls. "Who's on patrol on our side of camp tonight?"

"Paint, that's how we got out so easy," the gothy girl answered. She was from the other bunk, Murphy Two, and Paint was their bunk counselor. "Who's on the boys' side?"

"I think Jack," one of the other girls supplied.

"I'm glad the boys are dealing with him, then, not us."

"But we'll have to get past him to get to the beach!"

"Oh, it won't be _that_ hard..."

*

Jack reached for a cigarette and contemplated having patrol duty on the first night. On the one hand, it meant being up all night, and bored; on the other hand, it was a chance to smoke unobserved. He shifted the cigarette to the same hand as his flashlight and dug around in his pocket for a lighter with his now free hand. Cigarette to lips, flick of the lighter, and some of the annoyance slipped away.

A summer of forced nonsmoking, or nearly nonsmoking, was going to be the death of him. He kicked an innocent rock.

But patrol was actually fairly calming. The camp was blissfully quiet at night, aside from the sounds of nature, and the view of the moonlight over the lake was gorgeous. It would almost have been romantic, if he'd had someone to share it with, but that bitter thought was one he tried his best not to entertain. No point in dwelling on the many ways he'd screwed up his love life. _My whole life,_ he added mentally, and exhaled a plume of smoke.

But he wasn't at camp to think about what waited for him at home, he was at camp to... Well, mostly to avoid what waited for him at home. He kicked another rock and paused to shine his flashlight over the silent, deserted dining hall. Nothing. Of course nothing; it was too early in the summer for people to be sneaking out.

He nearly smiled at that. _The hell it is,_ he reminded himself, thinking of past years and successful pranks. The counselors had _hated_ him... Actually, most of the counselors had loved him; he was one of the camp's shining golden boys. As far as the Higgins family was concerned, he could do no wrong. So the rare occasions he'd been caught pulling a prank, sneaking out of his bunk, sneaking _in_ to the girls' bunks, had been cheerfully forgiven, and the only counselor he really annoyed was Sneakers, who'd spent the past two summers trying to prevent Jack's pranks with little success.

_And any campers who think they can outdo me obviously forgotten who they're dealing with. Takes one to know one. _He almost grinned. _I'd like to see someone try and sneak out while I'm on patrol. _

No one at this end of camp. He flicked some ash off of the end of his cigarette and started back uphill, taking the path closer to the inside of camp this time. He glanced through the small lining of trees that separated the various bunks from the rest of camp and saw the first unit was still, calm. Good. He continued up the hill, a relatively gentle incline at this point, and passed the unit where he was staying, the second youngest group. Nothing.

Maybe it would be just a calm night. Nothing in the junior unit, either, and not a voice heard in the senior unit. He checked his watch; it was a bit after midnight. Something felt off. He frowned and headed closer to the Senior cabins, but still not a sound. So they weren't up and out... Or at least, not in that area. He shut his flashlight off and glanced inside one of the cabins.

At first glance, nothing; he squinted and looked closer. He was right: nothing. No one except the counselor, who was asleep. _I knew it. I _knew_ it!_ he congratulated himself.

Now the question was, where were they?

He started back down hill quickly, then paused to drop and extinguish his cigarette. He had a radio with him, in case something came up. "Hey, Paint?" he asked into the void.

There was the sound of static for a moment. "Yeah?" she asked finally.

"Boys unit is empty."

"What?"

"The seniors snuck out. Haven't heard 'em, are the girls still there?"

"Should be. I'll kill 'em otherwise."

"I thought we were forbidden to kill campers."

"You have no idea how many times we had to tie down Sneakers to keep him from strangling _you, _Jack."

"Yeah, I bet you had fun tying him up." He hoped the smirk was audible through the radio.

"Shut up. Hang on, I'll check my bunk." There was another bit of static, and a long pause. He was in the main part of camp now and turned his flashlight back on, scanned the field. Nothing, of course they weren't out in the open. He headed down towards the tennis court, but saw and heard nothing.

"Hey, Jack, we've got a problem."

"No girls?"

"No girls in Senior, but a really sick little girl in the Middles. I'm gonna have to stay here with her. Can you handle this on your own?"

"Catching thirty kids sneaking around in the dark? Yeah, no problem."

"Okay, I'll radio in when Tammy's done throwing up," Paint agreed, either missing or simply ignoring the sarcasm in Jack's comment.

"You want me to get Triage?"

"Not yet, I'll radio for her once Tammy's stable. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm out." He pocketed the radio again, and checked the tennis courts. No one on them; a glance in the window showed there was no one in the sports shed, either, and there wasn't enough room inside anyway.

_Think, Jacky boy,_ he told himself. _If I was in charge of this, where would we go?_

There were a handful of places that were popular for sneaking out. Archery was one of them, but close enough to Senior Girls that Paint would have heard people talking, so he ruled that out. The rest were all downhill.

He paused in the main section of camp to flick his flashlight around the playing fields. Not a soul. He flicked it off again and started down towards the dining hall, keeping his eyes and ears as alert as possible. Nothing for awhile, then a quiet voice, then a "Shhh!" that was very distinct and clearly not just the wind.

He squinted in the general direction of the voices and could see a group of people, hunched over behind some bushes. One, he noted, was particularly dumb; he had a flashlight on. _Amateurs. Shoulda come in smaller groups,_ Jack scoffed and turned his flashlight on and over the group like a police spotlight.

"Okay, fellas; back to your bunks," he called.

There was a tense silence, and then a voice with a distinct Brooklyn accent yelled, "Scatter!"

Fourteen boys sprang to their feet almost as one and began to dash in various directions.

Jack stared for a second, then took off after the closest ones. It was like a mad game of tag where he was It; everyone scrambling like made to avoid him, and no way for him to make anyone else It.

The group he was chasing slipped off into the woods and most of them blended in fairly well; he kept going and looked around for a more obvious target, and found one. There, someone with a flashlight, panting and out of breath behind a tree. He slowed to a jog and caught the kid's wrist.

The kid yelped as he turned around. It was David, and judging by the look on his face, he was close to petrified. "Come on," Jack said, glancing around, but everyone else was gone now. Which meant he'd have to find them _again, _and probably would only be able to bring them in a few at a time. It wasn't tag anymore, it was hide and seek.

Jack lead David back to the main path and they started uphill. "So where's everyone else going?" Jack asked as they walked.

"Uh," David said. "I don't know," he answered, his mind racing to try and remember what he'd overheard.

"If you tell me, you won't get in trouble. Promise," Jack tried.

David shook his head. "I really don't know," he answered. "I was just following everyone else—"

"Ouch, never do that," Jack interrupted. "Not with _those_ guys. They're good guys an' all, but they get in trouble a lot."

"Yeah. I noticed that."

Jack laughed a little. "Don't worry; no one really gets in trouble for sneaking out, 'specially not the first night, but you didn't hear that from me. Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." They were approaching the Senior Boys bunks, and Jack walked David all they way up to Pentland, then leant inside. "Sneeeeeakers," he called in a singsongish voice, then reached for the nearest thing that came to hand—someone's bug spray—and hurled it at the sleeping counselor.

"What?" Sneakers asked, sitting upright, startled out of his slumber. Jack had been aiming for his head, but it was dark and he'd only managed to connect with Sneakers's torso.

"Your kids are missing." Jack nudged David into the cabin, towards his bunk. "Most of 'em, anyway."

"Huh. Imagine that." Sneakers didn't sound terribly surprised.

"You wanna help me find 'em, or what?"

Sneakers paused, watching David scramble up into his bunkbed. "Better not. I mean, what if David needs me? There's supposed to be a counselor in every cabin. Just in case." He sounded downright smarmy.

"Yeah, sure." Jack sighed and leant against the doorframe. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being set up?"

Sneakers grinned. "Revenge is sweet, Cowboy. Have fun."

Jack nodded a little and straightened up, then said to David, "I _mean_ it, where were they going?"

David shrugged in the darkness, then said aloud, "I really couldn't say." It wasn't until Jack let himself out that David remembered and started to say something.

Sneakers cut him off. "Let him go looking himself," he yawned. "But I'm going back to sleep."

David frowned a little. "Why let him?" he asked, then, "And what did he mean about being set up?"

Sneakers chuckled to himself. "Jack was a camper here for years," he explained. "And campers aren't the only ones who get hazed."

"Oh."

"Besides, he was the ringleader for Senior Boys the last two years, and his _favorite_ thing to do was to sneak out and lead all the counselors looking for him on a wild goose chase. And because he was in _my_ cabin, he was always nice enough to wait for _me_ to be on patrol, and... He deserves it. It's for his own good, anyway."

"How?" David asked.

"Because if _he_ gets to bust campers, they'll actually realize he's a counselor. They made me do it my first year. It's only fair."

"Oh." David turned the thought over in his mind for awhile, but the only conclusion he came to was that he had somehow ended up at the strangest camp in the country.

*

Jack flipped the radio on. "How's Tammy?" he asked.

"Still sick."

"Uh huh."

"Hey, she _is."_

"Don't bother. I talked to Sneakers; I know this is a setup."

A chuckle came across the radio. "Yeah, you should have seen him cackling about it last week when he asked Race to arrange it."

"You mean he actually—he _really_ set this up?"

"Of course. He spent two summers chasing you down; you think he'd miss the chance to get back at you for it?"

"Guess not."

"Nope. Well, have fun."

"Yeah, whatever. And next time you see Sneakers, tell him he's got too much free time, okay?"

"Yep. I'm out." He heard the radio static come up on her end, sighed, and put his on standby. Almost thirty kids to find, and acres of land covered with good hiding spaces. He might as well get started.


	5. The Midnight (and After) Society

Jack wanted to collapse. He checked his watch; it was around one thirty in the morning. Theoretically, patrollers could go to bed at one. He thought, yet again, about how much he'd love to strangle his former counselor, and took a quick break. The dining hall was locked, of course, but he'd learned how to sneak in as a camper (not that it was hard, as the locks were approximately as old as Kloppman, the head cook who ruled the place with an iron fist) and it wasn't like he was going to forget just because he was a counselor.

Well. Assistant counselor. He was only seventeen, which meant that the camp wasn't legally supposed to leave him in charge of minors, but he still got paid as a regular counselor and had all the duties thereof. It was just a legal thing.

Annoying, though. The kids all knew about it.

Jack helped himself to a drink of water, rinsed out the glass and left it in the sink. No doubt Kloppman would have a screaming fit the next morning, but, well, that was the next morning. And it was starting to look like Jack just wasn't going to get any sleep.

_Well, I did catch a few of them,_ he reminded himself as he slipped back onto the dining hall's back porch Only to see someone else was there, who immediately began to dash away from him. Glad he'd stopped to have a drink and catch his breath, Jack gave chase.

It didn't take too long to catch her; the camper in question turned out to be Elf, one of the girls back for her second year. "Come on," he muttered, nudging her towards the girl's side where Paint had agreed to meet him and make sure that the campers all got back to where they were supposed to. In a case like this, Jack could probably have been in the girls' side of camp, but the Higgins family still wouldn't be thrilled with it. Even male counselors were supposed to stay on their own side except for extreme emergencies.

Elf let out a string of curse words, which Jack ignored, and she continued to swear a blue streak as Paint walked away with her. Jack shook his head a little and swept the area with his flashlight, scanning for people who weren't supposed to be there. Elf made six people he'd caught. In an hour and a half. Things were definitely not looking up.

He ran through the list in his head as he started uphill, figuring he'd start at the top of campyet againand work his way down. The only boys he'd managed to find were David, far earlier in the night, Swifty, and Crutchy. He almost felt bad catching Crutchy, who couldn't really run or hide terribly well with his bad leg, but Crutchy would have been much more offended if he _hadn't_ been caught. He hated being given special privileges because of his leg, which Jack respected.

And also, Jack was glad that at least _someone_ had been easy to catch.

Swifty had been much harder. Jack had stumbled across him by pure luck on one of the wood paths at the edge of campwell, the edge of the frequently used part of camp, not counting the acres of hiking grounds and woodsand Swifty had run for it. And he had his nickname for a reason. Ten minutes later, it had only been a fortunate collision with a tree branch that let Jack catch up to him, and since he'd been fine, aside from having lost his breath, and Jack had marched him back to Ferguson, the other boys' bunk.

He'd also managed to catch Dreamer and Shakes from Murphy One, talking quietly to each other; and Glitz from Murphy Two. Mostly he'd just been lucky. Now, tired and just wanting to get some sleep, it was time to get serious and start being methodical.

*

Starting at the top of camp meant the barn, an area where Jack was perfectly comfortable moving around in the dark. He knew the place like the back of his hand, after spending the last nine summers practically living there. _Nine?_ he wondered to himself. _This can't really be my tenth year here. That's just crazy._

But, in this case, it worked to his advantage; he moved through the barn quietly and was pretty sure he knew who he was looking for. Skittery at least would be there, for the same reason Jack had hid there so many times; there were a lot of good hiding places and he knew his way around. Sure enough, Skittery had dozed off in one of the corners of the equipment shed. Ian had been in the barn proper, sharing a stall with a horse. Jack delivered them back to their bunks and moved on.

*

Jack didn't find anyone as he worked his way downhill, which wasn't surprising. Not many people hid on or near the well traveled paths right by the bunks, and the path downhill from riding lead straight past the whole boys' half of camp. He checked his watch. Almost two. He groaned and began to listen carefully.

The path past the youngest boys' cabin split, one side went to the dining hall and the other off towards the boat beach. He couldn't hear anyone from where he was, but figured the boat beach was another spot where people liked to hide, and he clicked off his flashlight as he moved close. He could hear people now.

*

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Smurf demanded, from the doorway of the boat shed.

"Hiding, same as you," Blink snapped back.

"Too bad. This is _my_ area, I've already been here for an hour, you can just get lost."

_"Your_ area?" Blink asked indignantly. "Last I knew it was a free country. I don't see your name on it nowhere."

"The word is anywhere, idiot, and if you don't shut up you'll get us both caught."

_"I'll_ get us caught? _You're_ the one who won't shut up!"

"Hey! I was here _first,_ I don't _need _to"

"Yeah yeah yeah." Blink glared at her for a second before he crouched down on the sand and rolled his way under one of the canoes. It was dark but dry, and not too hard to get comfortable. And now that he was hidden, it was even easier to ignore Smurf. Ignoring Smurf was one of his favorite hobbies, anyway, and he knew that being ignored would just make her _more_ angry. Which would make getting back at her, when he got around to it, even more fun. He thought of the summer of racing yet to come, and smiled, then froze when he heard footsteps crunching on the sand.

Probably it was just Smurf, getting comfortable somewhere else. He made himself relax, until a boot hooked itself under his canoe and propped it up. A flashlight shone in his eyes and he squinted and turned away.

"Come on," Jack half-yawned.

"Aw, _man,"_ Blink whined, and stood up before Jack could lean down and grab him. He had no doubt that Jack would drag him off by the collar given half a chance; he didn't look like he was in a very good mood.

Smurf was standing next to Jack, smirking, of course. He glared at her again. "I'll so get you for this," he hissed, realizing she had either been caught first, or maybe even given herself up; either way as soon as she was caught she must have told Jack which canoe he was under. Yet another reason he was going to have to come up with an elaborate revenge scheme.

He contemplated that as Jack dragged him back uphill.

*

According to Jack's mental calculations, assuming he hadn't forgotten anyone, there were sixteen campers still at large. It was a quarter after two. Sailing was in the far left corner of camp, so he started back towards the right, figuring he'd do the perimeter before he started on the inside. He passed the dining hall and checked the inside, knowing he wasn't the only one who knew how to get in past the lock, but it was deserted.

He followed the path to the only other major area on the lake end of camp, the waterfront. Hiding there was difficult; it meant finding the way down in the darkno easy task, given the state of the pathand there was no where to run if you got caught. But on the other hand, most counselors skipped it when searching as it was an equal pain for counselors. There was no way to get down the cliff face without making noise, and that meant the campers would be in the best hiding spots they could find.

Jack he the pros and cons from the campers' points of view, and had used the waterfront himself more than once. He'd actually been there until the first morning bell once, when Sneakers had been utterly unable to find him. And since he'd been able to do it, that meant that other people would probably try. Sighing a little, tired, Jack turned his light back on (no point in hiding so long as he'd be making noise anyway) and skidded down the path as carefully as he could manage.

A quick shine with his flashlight didn't turn anyone up. He hadn't figured it would. Tiredly, he began searching the tree-covered cliff face. "One," he murmured to himself, not pausing as he spotted the body huddled behind a bush, "two," he added, seeing someone lying on the ground behind a fallen tree, and "three," when he saw someone else trying desperately to concentrate on being thinner, trapped behind a too-skinny tree, and "four," when someone else was up _in_ a tree. Once he was satisfied they were the only ones on the waterfront, he called them on it. He wished he could call them by name, but couldn't make out who was who from a distance.

Annoyed at being caught, Snoddy, Grammar, Sparker and Sureshot separated themselves from the scenery. They seemed like an odd collection to be in one place, but he figured it was probably just coincidence, and the three of them were just as glad to have the light of his flashlight to help them back up the hill.

*

Mush was beginning to regret not going with Blink to the waterfront after all. They'd wandered around the camp for a bit, avoiding Jack easily, before Blink decided where he wanted to go, but no, Mush had to go hide in the theater instead. Now he was almost wishing he'd just be found already.

In fact, he'd already been found. Three times. But not by Jack, was the problem. Instead, his nice quiet hiding place, amongst giant costume rack in the back of the theater, had been invaded. Which would have been so bad, but the three girlshe pretended to himself that he didn't recognize their voiceskept bickering with each other.

Over him.

Which, he realized, most boys his age wouldn't complain about. Three girls who wanted him, gee, what a horrible problem Except he couldn't help feel like a hunted animal. Maybe it was just paranoia, but he could only see the problem getting worse as the summer wore on.

Specifically because it had gotten so bad the summer before. They would jump out at himor on himevery time he turned around. He was afraid of his own shadow by the end of the summer, convinced it would tackle him. That was the problem with being a theater boy. Theater girls were _weird._

There was the sound of footsteps outside and everyone fell quiet. He hoped he was far enough back in the costume rack not to be found easily, and held his breath.

"Trixie," he could hear Jack say. "And" Pause. "Smartass. And, uh, youuh, the quiet one."

Her name was Mouse, Mush thought to himself, but didn't dare say aloud. She didn't say anything, either, but he could hear her disentangling herself from wherever she'd been hiding and cross the floor.

There was another long pause, then Jack started laughing. "It's safe to come out, Mush," he said.

"Shut up," Mush answered. In fact, it _wasn't_ safe to come out, and as soon as he did so, Trixie attached herself to one of his arms and Smartass to the other. He gave Jack a pained look. Jack laughed some more and herded them out through the main theater doorway.

They only paused at the sound of a sneeze. The porch out in front of the theater was old and covered in dust, and had gaps between the boardsand was a bit off the muddy ground. Jack shone his flashlight through the gaps and they found the source of the sneeze; Polecatone of the girls from Murphy One who _didn't_ stalk Mushwas underneath, and reluctantly scurried out at Jack's orders. She was covered in mud, but if it hadn't been for the dust that made her sneeze, would probably never have been found.

Jack dropped the girls off with Paint and as soon as they were out of earshot, started laughing again. "Ya know, most boys don't mind having a harem," he said.

Mush didn't grace him with a reply.

*

When it hit three AM, there were only six campers still missing. Thanks to another stroke of luckJack figured he deserved good luck, since he'd been set up and allhe'd caught Itey on his way from the boys' cabins back towards the theater where he'd left off, and now was on his way back _again._

Once again, the soft voices of people not really paying attention to the fact that he could be approaching any second did him a favor. He paused as he cut through the fields in the middle of the camp, and headed silently and without flashlight towards the sports shack, where all of the game equipment was stored.

A boy and a girl were talking. He listened for a second, and found himself utterly confused. He wasn't the only one, though.

*

"Swinger." Snitch sighed and shut his eyes. It was late, they'd be getting up in a few hours, and he was tired. "I'm sorry. I've got no idea what you said."

"I've gotta catch some cups. It's brightnin soon,"Swinger replied, frustrated.

"What?"

"I've gotta catch some cups. It's brightnin soon."

"What?"

"I've got to catch. Some. Cups," she said again, slowly and loudly, as though that would help. "It's brightnin soon." But it was no use; it was like she was talking in a foreign language.

Snitch wondered where this had come from, or if he should have seen it coming. He knew she liked swing music and swing dancing. Anyone who knew her knew _that,_ it was where her name came from, after all. And through the past few years she'd exposed him to a decent amount of the stuff; he knew a lot of Glen Miller songs now, and actually liked a lot of the more modern stuff. He'd even gone to a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert without her even suggesting it to him.

But this, her utter refusal to speak English in favor of whatever the heck she called her new dialect, was ridiculous.

"I'm tired," he sulked after a minute.

"Let's cop a final."

"What?" he asked again.

"Let's cop a final."

__

"What?"

_"Let's cop a final."_

"I'm sorry, I"

The door to the hut swung open. Jack turned on his flashlight and rolled his eyes. "She said, 'let's cop a final,'"he repeated.

"Yeah?" Snitch asked. "So what's it _mean,_ Cowboy?"

"You got me. Come on."

*

Sarah hadn't meant to follow them. Well, not the second time. The second time was a coincidence. An unpleasant one, but still not intentional.

And the first time, she hadn't been following Hotshot, she'd been following whoever the boy was. He had shown up as they were on their way to go meet the boys and informed everyone that the meeting was off and they were all hiding. Which everyone else seemed to think was fun, but Sarah disagreed. She didn't know anything about where to hide. She barely knew where anything _was._

So she'd followed him. But unfortunately, so had Hotshot, and when they realized a few minutes later that they were still walking almost next to each other, they had gotten into a bit of an argument.

Luckily, the counselor must have been busy elsewhere, because it had gotten a little loud.

So, incredibly annoyed, Sarah had slunk off to find her own hiding spot, determined to find somewhere better than _anywhere_ Hotshot could think of. Despite the fact that Hotshot probably had something of an advantage, as it was her fourth year at camp.

But apparently, Sarah had done a good job. She'd wandered into the woods and hadn't seen anyone since. Except now it felt _really_ late at night, and she was tired, and realized she had just about no idea where she was. Scared, she'd started back the way she'd come, as close as she could tell, and after what felt like an eternity of floundering through the trees, had finally come back into the camp proper. She'd cut through the main fields, no longer even caring if she was caught, just wanting to go home and go to sleep, but wasn't sure exactly where her bunk was.

She really only remembered that it was just past the archery range, and so she'd headed that way, and had practically tripped over them.

Well, not "practically," exactly. And not "them." She had, literally, tripped over him; the boy she'd been following earlier, whose name she'd learned was Spot. And he hadn't exactly been thrilled at being tripped over, but Hotshot seemed even more angry about it.

"I was _not,"_ Sarah repeated again, as if to a small, stupid child, "_following_ you."

"Yeah? Then what they hell are you doing back here?"

"I was heading to _bed."_

"Uh huh."

"You don't believe me?" Sarah challenged.

"I don't believe you didn't get _caught,"_ Spot muttered, rubbing his side where she'd inadvertently kicked him when she tripped.

"Yeah, klutz. I'm surprised you didn't trip over _Jack_ and get caught."

"Jack" she answered, not really knowing or caring who he was, "doesn't appear to be stupid enough to be lying in my way, does he?"

Spot frowned. "Was she insulting me?" he asked Hotshot.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That's not a good idea."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'll _excuse_ me, I'd like to be on my way now."

"What if we won't?" Hotshot demanded.

Sarah ignored her and started to walk past them. Hotshot stepped in her way. She ducked around to the side. Hotshot followed and stepped back, still in her way, smirking. Sarah glared at her. "Look," she said, trying to be reasonable. Well, she thought it was reasonable. "If you don't get your fat ass out of my way"

"My _what?_" Hotshot demanded, then, "Like you should talk about having a fat ass."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Real mature," she muttered.

"Real mature," Hotshot echoed in the universal voice of obnoxious copying.

"Shut up."

"Shut up."

"I mean it! Get out of my way."

Hotshot must have realized she'd found something, because she repeated, "I mean it! Get out of my way."

Sarah tried to walk past her again, and Hotshot blocked her way again. She clenched a fist. "I swear to God" she started.

"Try it," Hotshot offered. "Go on. Take a swing at me." She grinned. "I'll kill you."

And she probably would have, except that a flashlight beam swept over the three of them. Sarah followed it and found herself staring into the face of an angel wearing a red bandanna.

*

It was almost four AM. Jack was glad he was in good shape, otherwise he'd have been sore from all the walking, and was glad his boots had already been broken in so his feet wouldn't be covered in blisters. Four in the morning, and one camper left to find. And Jack already knew how much of a pain finding Racetrack was going to be.

He was certain, by four AM, that Race was nowhere in the main camp, which meant he'd either made up for the Higgins's house, which he naturally had a key to, as he lived there and all, or was hiding somewhere in the woods which were used only for hiking purposes. And since his mother would be annoyed if she caught him in the house, Jack knew, probably he'd struck out for the woods.

Jack almost groaned aloud when he realized that. The woods where thick, hard to find the way through, easy to hide in if that was your goal, and Race would know his way through them better than anyone else. Sure, this was Jack's tenth summer at camp and he knew most of the trails, but Race _lived_ there. He'd spent every summer of his life getting to know those woods.

Jack wondered if it would be wrong to just let him go. People would understand. Race would walk into breakfast the next morning, smug, and gloat at Jack for days, but of course people would understand. And rounding up everyone else by himself was pretty impressive, he figured.

But a nagging fear began to grow in the back of his mind. Sure, Race knew his way around, but what if he'd gotten hurt, or lost, or eaten by a bear or something? Jack was a counselor now, and he was supposed to be responsible. And he'd lose his job if Racetrack disappeared somehow, and that meant he'd have to spend the summer back at home, a fate worse than death.

So he'd keep looking.

Jack turned his flashlight on; it would make it impossible to sneak through the woods, but getting through the woods without it was impossible, too. And even Race would make a lot of noise if he tried to move around, and Jack could catch him that way, so it didn't matter. He hoped.

But as soon as he started down the first trail, his light began to flicker on and off. He whacked it against his other hand a few times, which helped for a few seconds, then it began to flicker again. It sputtered and died out completely.

Jack checked his watch. Five after four in the morning. It was late enough that the few minutes he'd lose if he went back to his bunk for new batteries wouldn't matter much one way or the other, and he really didn't want to tackle the woods without light. Annoyed, he went back the way he came.

He was spending his summer living in the Matheson cabin, one of the three that made up the Middle Boys unit. It was a good setup, he figured, because the cabins were large and had a surplus of counselors, and the only ones required to stay there were the actual middle boys' counselors. As a riding instructor, he had the freedom to take off during the evening, so long as he didn't leave camp.

The door to the side room that housed the excess counselors creaked when he opened it, and he made his way over to his bed and tossed the flashlight down on it to go searching for batteries. The flashlight made a slight _oof_ noise when it landed.

He spun around and squinted through the dark, realizing that was a human noise, and sure enough, Racetrack Higgins was lying in Jack's bunk, comfortable and warm inside Jack's sleeping bag, barely awake. He'd actually been asleep until the flashlight had landed on him.

Jack glared.

"Took ya long enough," Race yawned.

"Shut up. Get out."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyone else left?"

"Nope."

 

Race grinned as he crawled out from Jack's sleeping bag. "Damn, I'm good."

"Uh huh. I caught you, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah. But still, it's" he glanced over at Jack's clock, "after four in the morning. Not too shabby."

Jack rolled his eyes and dragged Race out of the bunk. They walked in silence for a minute, then Jack commented, "Race, you wanna do me a favor?"

"Maybe?"

"Don't mess with me this summer." He cracked his knuckles.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Sneakers has had his fun, and I _know_ you set this up. Rigged the patrol roster wheel, right?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, so don't do it again."

"Or else?"

"Or else you'll share in whatever revenge I come up with for Sneakers."

"Oooh, revenge?"

"You think I'm gonna let him get away with this?"

"Well, it's only fair. I mean, you got away with murder for _years."_

"That's different, I was a camper. He's supposed to be an adult."

"So are you. You're plotting revenge."

"Well, yeah, but I'm doing it _as_ an adult _to_ an adult, so that's okay. So just stay out of it, if you want to live."

Race laughed at that. "You sound mad."

"I'm not mad, I just want my three hours of sleep back."

"Yeah, your bunk's real comfy."

"Shut up."

"Make me," Race challenged.

"I'll tell your mom," Jack answered smugly, which shut Race up fairly effectively. Sure, it was a juvenile threat, but they both knew what happened to Race when he managed to incur his mother's wrath, and Jack was willing to take full advantage of it.

They arrived at Pentland and Jack added, "I mean it. Stay out of my way."

"No problem," Race agreed, then loudly enough to wake everyone else in the room, "Hey guys! Miss me?"

"Shut up," Sneakers groaned. "Some of us are trying to _sleep."_

"OH, YOU ARE?" Jack asked loudly from the doorway. "I'M SORRY. BE QUIET, RACE."

Race started laughing again as he climbed into his own bed. "OKAY. GOODNIGHT, COWBOY."

"'NIGHT, RACE."

And on that loud note, Jack headed back to his own bed for a few hard earned but richly deserved hours of sleep.


	6. A Typical Day

David woke up the next morning to the sound of the first bell. Someone was already in the shower, and he could see that Sneakers and Racetrack were already up and dressed. He groaned and buried his head under his pillow, trying to block out the light.

Race stood and leant against the top bunk, then carefully picked up the pillow and regarded the dirty look David was giving him from underneath. "Rise and shine, Dave."

"If you tell me to give God my glory, I'll be forced to kill you." David's usual awkwardness disappeared in favor of his annoyance at being awake. Which actually wasn't all that surprising; his social awkwardness was _usually_ competing with his inner sarcasm, and he was never more sure than anyone else which would win out. It kept his few friends at home on their toes.

Race grinned. "Not a morning person, I take it?"

"No," David replied emphatically. "Especially not when I didn't sleep." He glared around the cabin for a second; he'd been _almost_ asleep repeatedly when someone else would be ushered in and wake him again. All in all, he hadn't gotten more than a few hours of shuteye.

"You'll wanna be up by second bell so you'll be on time," Race warned him, and dropped the pillow. David shut his eyes and tried to get comfortable, and very nearly managed to fall back asleep, so it seemed like only moments later when the second bell started ringing. This time, he actually managed to sit up, and noted that everyone else was already awake and dressed.

"'Morning," Sneakers greeted him cheerfully. David grumbled something incoherent in response and forced himself to climb out of his nice warm bed, though it was hard. It got harder when he hit the freezing cold floor. He mumbled something about needing a cup of coffee and dug out a clean set of clothes, and when he finished getting dressed, everyone tromped down to the dining hall as a group.

At least there was no singing. In fact, not only was there no singing while they waited, but Sneakers was kind enough to inform David that anyone caught singing before breakfast faced the risk of being, "murdered to death." David decided not to point out how ridiculous that sounded, and was glad that at least he wasn't the only one who wasn't a morning person.

He was even more gratified when he took his seat and discovered that Jack wasn't a morning person, either. At least not _this_ morning. Jack clutched a cup of coffee and looked like he was going to pass out any second.

"Gee, Jack, up late last night?" Smurf giggled.

Jack started to answer with something wholly inappropriate, then remembered he was a counselor and not supposed to say words like that in the presence of campers. "It didn't take me long to catch _you,"_ he reminded her instead.

"Blink's fault," she answered immediately.

"Uh huh," Jack said, more concerned with his coffee than with the conversation.

"But you didn't get _Race_ until dawn, or something, right?" she continued.

He glared at her.

"Four AM," David supplied, giving Jack as nasty a look as he could manage. Which was pretty nasty, due to the early hour and his basic feelings about being awake before noon during the summer. "He _very kindly_ woke up all the rest of us."

Jack stirred his coffee instead of answering.

"Awww, poooooooor Jack," Smurf mocked. "Don't worry, next time we sneak out, it'll be when someone else has patrol."

"Next time you sneak out," Jack informed her, "you're done for the summer."

"Yeah, yeah," Ian scoffed from further down the table. "So they say every year."

"It's a stupid tradition, anyway," Jack answered.

"You liked it last year."

"I ain't a kid no more."

"Gee, do your old, aching bones need more rest?" Smurf mocked. "I guess we young wippersnappers had better"

"Wippersnappers?" David interrupted, and laughed. She glared at him and he began to stare intently out a window, but Jack shot him a grateful look for taking the attention away from his exhaustion, and then breakfast arrived and no one said anything for awhile.

Breakfast turned out to be a fairly subdued meal, and vaguely better than dinner the night before. On the other hand, it was hard to mess up corn flakes straight from the box, though given the previous evening's meal, David decided that the cooking staff probably could do it if they tried. Jack took it on himself to tiredly explain to David what the day held in store for him; David was sick of being the only one who needed things explained, but smiled and nodded politely anyway.

Essentially, everything Jack said boiled down to him having a few days to figure out what activity he wanted to spend most of his time doing. He then tuned out Jack and the rest of the half-hearted chatter around him and began making a mental list of what to do and what to avoid.

_Horses I've already avoided. Let's see. I want to be somewhere relatively bug free, where I won't get sunburned or injured. Also where I won't embarrass myself_ Which he figured let out swimming and sailing (too much time outdoors), and archery as too likely to get hurt. He had a terrible mental image of stray arrows and delicate portions of his anatomy coming into close contact. Which left arts and craftsand even he already had the sense that arts and crafts was probably considered lame for anyone over the age of twelvetheater, and tennis. Any of the three he could probably handle. Performing in public wasn't his strong point, but he didn't have stage fright the way a lot of people seemed to; he'd played tennis a handful of times, mostly in gym class, and was mediocre but not outright terrible at it; and while he had no artistic talent to speak of, he'd never heard of anyone being _bad_ at arts and crafts.

As they were finishing breakfast, various counselors began to line up to for announcements. David listened with vague interest as he learned from Specs, apparently the head of the swimming unit, that the lesson groups and schedules had been posted, and then from Lark, who was clearly the head of the theater unit, that the first show of the summer would be some sort of retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, with auditions through the morning. She also announced that this year, the theater department would have a subdivision of dance and gymnastics, for the first time, and introduced the official Dance counselor, a dark haired guy named Bumlets. There was a half-hearted round of applause, and then the dishes were cleared and everyone was herded back to their cabins until activities began.

*

The sailing staff gathered on the boating beach around nine fifteen, waiting for the campers to begin to arrive. Dutchy made himself comfortable, sitting on one of the two-person sailboats, and nodded or waved to his co-counselors. He wasn't the sort who wasted words talking when a simple gesture would suffice, which meant he was far quieter than most of his peers, and certainly than the campers.

Irish sat down across from him. They were the two sailing counselors, who shared their beach with the canoe and crew folks; all of the boating staff was supervised by the same guy, a senior counselor who went by the name of Gunwale, but he pretty much let the sub-units direct themselves.

"So I figure, one of us is going to have to work with the little kids, and one of us has to supervise the more experienced ones," she said, knowing she probably wouldn't get more of a greeting than a smile.

"Yep." That was what he figured, too; it was his second year as a counselornot in a row, he'd taken the last summer off of camp to work a regular summer job, which he'd ended up hatingand that was how it had always been done. "I got the kids," he added.

"No _way,"_ she answered. "I had the Feud last summer, I am _not_ doing it again."

"I got rank."

"No you don't, you're not a senior counselor."

He paused. She had a point. "Rock paper scissors?" he suggested. She nodded, they counted in, and he lost with paper to her scissors. "Damn," he muttered and told their overbearing head counselor that he'd take the sailors with more experience.

There were a few more minutes of relative quiet, before the campers began to arrive. Dutchy sat back down on his boat, and kept himself amused by concentrating on the feeling of the damp sand under his bare feet, and the cool breeze through his hair and against his skin, as he'd left his Hawaiian print shirt unbuttoned. Simple things, but they felt nice.

His peace was shattered within minutes, though. He shut his eyes and pretended he didn't know what was coming.

"couldn't even have given me one lousy hour alone on my beach, _could_ you?"

_"Your_ beach? I was here first!"

"Were not, I was _so_ ahead of you on the trail."

"I was at _camp_ for _two years_ before you were. It is _so_ my beach."

"Shut up and bite me."

"Who's being mature _now,_ Smurf?"

He opened his eyes. They had passed from the path to the beach, now, and he waved Blink and Smurf over, figuring they'd be looking for him anyway. They were the two that returning sailing staff members referred to as the Feud; no one remembered quite how it startedDutchy doubted that even they rememberedbut several years ago a giant fight had erupted between them, and they'd never gotten over it. And since they both sailed all the time, they spent a lot of time together, and that just made things worse.

And if he hadn't known that they were actually doing it to annoy each other, he'd have really believed they did it to make the sailing staff crazy.

"Hey, Dutchy."

"'Morning, Dutchy."

He looked up at them, and nodded a little. "Hey. Sit down." He waited for them to make themselves comfortable in the sand, sitting as far from each other as they could and still be able to not at all accidentally throw sand at each other. "Look, you two. You pull the same stuff I've seen you try and do before, and I'll get you both banned from the boat beach. For the rest of the summer. Got it?"

The speech had probably worked better in his head than aloud, he reflected to himself as he watched their reactions. On the one hand, they were surprised he said anything at all, since he usually barely said more than four words at a time; on the other hand, it wasn't like it would do any good.

"We aren't trying to pull anything," Smurf objected.

"Uh huh." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, keep it in mind. Anyway, we're gonna wait and see if anyone else comes, then get you guys through the baby."

"We already know the baby stuff."

He shrugged. "Camp policy, you gotta do it every year."

"Aw, _man."_ Blink groaned and kicked a pile of sand, which landed on Smurf, who responded by kicking him.

Dutchy shut his eyes again. It was going to be a long morning.

*

"Come on. Audition. It'll be fun," Mush encouraged, grabbing David's arm and dragging him towards the theater.

"I was actually thinking arts and crafts"

"Lame. Come on." He shoved David in the theater door. "Hey, Lark! Ya miss me all year?"

Medda was waiting for them on one of the wooden benches that lined the inside of the theater, or at least, she'd been waiting for Mush. She walked over to them and pinched his cheek. "You know I did, darling," she answered, and David wondered for a fleeting second if she was actually flirting with a camper less than half her ageand what kind of counselor flirted with campers at all. He decided to keep that train of thought to himself, though, as he remembered what had happened at dinner the night before and didn't want to see what Medda was like when she was actually angry.

She turned to David. "Well, if it isn't my dear lost camper. How was your night, kid? Exciting, I trust?"

"Uh"

"Actually, Dave got busted real early. First thing. Didn't get the fun of running around with the rest of us. So what's the week's show, Lark?"

She handed him a cheap paper packet, clearly a copy of the real script. "Oh, just something for the kidsRed Versus The Wolf, nothing challenging. But it's a fun little show."

"Hmm." He began to read through the first page and nodded to himself a little. "Looks fun. Hey, Dave wants to audition but he's too scared."

"I am not. I mean, uh, I do not."

Medda considered him. "Well, it's too late, you're already here." She presented him with his own photocopied version of the script and pointed towards the stage. "Why don't you boys take a minute to read through it? I wonder where the girls are"

"Far, far away, I hope," Mush muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Mister Meyers?" Medda demanded.

"Uh, nothing, Lark." Mush ushered David back towards the stage and perched on the edge, then began to read through the script. "You'll like theater here, the staff's real nice. The shows ain't great, but not too bad for a summer camp, ya know? Hope you don't mind me volunteering you, you just looked like you didn't know where to go or anything. And I figured, who doesn't love the stage?"

"Lots of people."

"Aw, come on. You telling me that you don't like being the center of attention?" He paused, then added in a hushed voice, "And you get lots of girls this way."

David managed to smile at that and glanced down at the script. He'd been considering the theater anyway, and Mush seemed pretty nice. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Oh Muuuuuuuuuuushy!"

"Mush!"

Two very over-enthusiastic girls appeared at the doorway, waving. Medda intercepted them, but they only talked to her for a second, accepted copies of the script, and dashed up to the stage. "Hi, Mush!"

"G'morning, Mush!"

"Oh. Hi." He sighed. "Uh, Dave, this is SmartassSmartie when there's kids around," he clarified, gesturing to the broad shouldered girl with lighter brown hair. "And that's Trixie." He nodded to the other girl, with dyed burgundy hair, wearing a sparkly black T-shirt with the Rocky Horror logo on it. "More theater people. Smartass, Trixie, this is Dave. He's real shy, be nice."

"Hi, Dave."

"Hey. So Mush, how was your morning? What are you doing this evening?"

"Do you know what part you want yet? Have you read the script?"

"How was your year? You're gonna be a junior, right? Hey, did you get my letter?"

David decided that instead of figuring out who was who and which questions were asked by which girlhe really had no idea, and he doubted Mush was paying enough attention to know, eitherhe'd tune them out and read the script. The fact that Mush's answers to their questions were, at best, half-hearted, didn't seem to bother or discourage them.

A few younger kids came in, escorted by the counselor Dave had heard someone refer to as Pie Eater. Yet another strange name, and he was once again glad that people seemed content to call him Dave. He was about to go back to the script, when someone else bounded out on to the stage, from behind the curtain this time.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he declared. Clearly, this was another counselor; tall with spiked brown hair. "I'd like to welcome you all to the Camp Yafeh Summer Theater program! Now, let's all gather and get to know each otherwe theater people get very close by the end of a production. Don't we, Lark?"

Medda made her way up to the stage, and Mush and the girls scattered off to the side. David followed, already feeling like he was part of a staged production. It probably had to do with the booming stage voice the second counselor was using. "We most certainly _do,_ Maverick."

*

Dutchy sat down on the dock next to Specs, not minding when Specs said hello without looking up. He was busy being a lifeguard, after all, and Dutchy didn't want to distract him.

The evening was a lot less hot than the day had been, which was nice; by noon, everyone in the camp had been drenched in sweat, even the people doing indoors activities. It wasn't like the rickety old camp buildings had air conditioning Which was why the swim staff had arranged an evening free swim.

"How was your day?" Specs asked, again not looking up.

"I've had better."

"Problems on the boat beach?"

"The Feud. Gonna have to kill Blink and Smurf."

"I can see why." Specs sought out the two in question, and as close as he could tell, Smurf was about thirty seconds away from drowning Blink. That could just have been because of her grip around his neck, and the shade of blue he was turning, and the proximity of his face to the water. "Damn it," he added, and blew his whistle. "You two knock that off!"

Blink sucked in a deep breath and Smurf swam off to sulk somewhere else, probably. He didn't really care. "Yeah, you're going to have to kill them," Specs agreed. "But otherwise?"

"Pretty good day. How was yours?"

"Pretty much the same."

And then they went back to watching the swimmers in silence, enjoying being with each other without saying anything.

*

By the time nine at night rolled around, David was more than ready to fall into bed and crash for the next ten hours, but once again, in an attempt to not be his usual, antisocial self, he found himself tagging along after his bunkmates. _Mom would be proud,_ he reflected to himself, glad that this time they weren't sneaking out. Senior curfew was ten o'clock, so they had a full hour, and the Juniors had just had _their_ curfew, so now they had the whole of camp to themselves.

Apparently, what that meant was a nightly gathering at the dining hall, complete with coffee or tea and a snack, usually whatever was leftover from that night's dessert. It wasn't actually as exciting as Race and the others made it out to be, but David figured at least it wouldn't take as much energy as the day's activities had.

After his auditionwhich had been declared "Simply stunning!" by Lark, though him figured she said that to everyone as he heard it at least three other times that morning, he'd been pulled over to tennis. The afternoon had been his first swimming groupnothing terribly challengingmore theater (to his surprise, he'd been cast with a mid-sized role and they were holding a first read through) and after some fast talking, he'd let himself be dragged to archery.

He figured it wouldn't be _so_ bad. Sneakers was the head of the archery unit, after all, and Sneakers seemed pretty relaxed. Or so he'd thought, until he'd spent an hour being drilled by some scary female counselor while Sneakers occasionally walked by and made snide comments, which seemed to be his hobby. David had paid attention and learned the rulesmemorized them, in fact, because he was truly scared of what counselor Chauncey might do to him if he didn't.

It had been traumatic, to say the least.

Dinner was accompanied by more exuberant singing, and _that_ was followed by an hour of free swim. Which was a nice way to relax, except that everyone had to have a partner and he didn't know anyone, and ended up with some ten year old kid. He also saw Les for the first time, and discovered his younger brother had already made friends and fit in perfectly.

Sarah had decided not to swim, though. He didn't miss seeing her very much.

And now, finally, the day was winding down. It hadn't been a bad day, just the first one on this schedule, and he was tired.

He wasn't the only one. Jack was already sitting in the dining hall when the boys of Pentland, followed a minute later by the Ferguson boys, arrived. He had a cup of coffee clenched in one had as he had in the morning, and was staring down at a novel, though he didn't seem to be reading it so much as staring blankly at the page.

"Hey, Cowboy, I didn't know you could read," Race commented as he sat down. David took the seat across from him.

"Shut up."

"Someone's cranky," Race answered cheerfully. David wondered how it was possible for one person to actually have _that_ much energy at any given point; sure, he'd only know Racetrack for less than forty-eight hours, but Race, while not hyper the way other people were, was certainly energetic, and had been all day. "Miss your nap this evening?"

"Shut up," Jack said again, and took a gulp of coffee.

"Aw, leave him alone, Race," Mush put in. "If all he can manage to say is shut up, he must be _real_ tired."

"You shut up too, or I'll sick Trixie on you. Don't think I won't."

David gave him an amused look; he'd learned during the two hours he'd spent in the theater that Mush didn't just have a choice of girls, Mush had stalkers. And while he seemed to consider them nice enough people, he also seemed terrified of them.

"What're you reading?" he finally asked Jack.

Jack looked up. "That's the first time you've sounded interested in anything so far at camp, Dave. Congrats." He put a napkin between pages and shut the book, then passed it to David. "And you didn't even say 'um.'"

David felt himself blushing a little as he looked at the book. It was old copy of Frank Herbert's _Dune,_ and Jack didn't seem to be too far through it. David passed it back; he'd read it the year before. "You didn't strike me as the science fiction type."

"I don't exactly walk around wearing Spock ears or nothing," Jack answered defensively.

"You can like scifi without being a scary Trekkie," David replied.

"Yeah? Name three people who do."

"Uh." David hesitated. "Well, _I_ do."

"That's one."

"You do."

"Two."

"Uh." He paused.

"See? That's my point." Jack paused. "Hey, is Sarah Jacobs your sister?"

"Sort of." David shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well" He trailed off. "She is, we just don't have anything in common. At all."

"Yeah, she seems a little more Assertive than you do."

David nodded. He'd heard that before, approximately seven thousand times, from his parents. At least Jack didn't follow it by suggesting he should try to be more like her.

The girls began to file in, Mush decided he wanted to get to bed early, grabbed one of the cookies that had been set out, and disappeared. He was a little late, as Trixie and Smartass appeared in the doorway and followed him.

Blink sat down where he'd been. "Man, that kid is _such_ a closet case," he commented.

"Ya think so?" Race asked. Jack rolled his eyes and opened his book again, though he was paying more attention to the conversation than to his reading. David listened as well, not having much to offer.

"You know any other boys that obsessed with Broadway?"

"That's just a stereotype."

Blink shrugged. "Okay, but seriouslythe guy is terrified of girls. I mean, he's got them chasing him _all the time,_ and he runs away. That ain't normal."

"You ever talked to those girls?" Race shot back. "You'd run away, too."

"Nah." Blink grinned. "'Cause, see, I _like_ girls."

"Really?" Race asked innocently. "What about that one?" He pointed to table with the coffee set up, where Smurf was pouring herself a cup, talking to Swinger. Or at least attempting to; so far, no one had really managed to have a coherent conversation with Swinger.

"Well, not _her."_

"Uh huh." Race shrugged.

"Gotta wonder, though I mean, what would it be like to, ya know, be in the closet? I mean, that would suck, right?"

"Gee, Blink, that was almost profound," Race commented.

"Bite me," Blink answered.

David was also fairly surprised to hear Blink saying something that seemed to be his own version of an intelligent observation. _Yeah, gotta wonder,_ David thought to himself, glad that whatever social problems he had, that wasn't one he was worried about.

He glanced over at Jack, who was now concentrating very hard on his book.

"So what's it matter, anyway?" Race asked. "What if he _was_ gay?"

"It don't matter, just You know, he oughtta tell people. If he even knows."

That also struck David as a surprisingly intelligent comment, coming from Blink True, he hadn't known Blink for more than two days, but Blink had definitely not struck him as the intelligent sort. _Maybe I'm being too cynical again, like Mom and Dad keep telling me,_ he mused to himself. _Or maybe Blink's just having a good night, or something. Weird, though, I wonder what that would be like to be gay and not even realize it. I don't know how people can deny something like that_

"You really think he's gay?" Race asked, continuing the conversation, jerking David out of his thoughts.

"You really think he's _straight?"_ Blink shot back.

"Good point." Race grinned, and began to pick at a cookie. Blink got up and wandered off to go talk to Snitch and Skittery at one of the other tables, and Jack looked up from his book again.

"You ever heard Blink talk like that before?" he asked.

"Kinda; we talked a few months ago and he said one of his good friends at home came out. Freaked him out, but I guess he got over it."

David continued to be silent, but glanced over at where Blink was laughing with the other guys. _So maybe he's not exactly smart, but he must be a pretty decent guy,_ he decided.

There was a lull in the conversation, and David began to wish he'd brought a book himself. He yawned and rested his head in his arms, leaning on the table, and drifted off It was a sudden change in the atmosphere of the chat around him that woke him up. He looked around to see what was going on.

The room had fallen silent, or at least, close to it. Striding purposefully from the door over to the table where he was sitting were the two counselors David had seen at the stables the day before; he didn't remember their names, just that no one had seemed to like them. Race tapped Jack's shoulder and nodded in their direction. "Great," Jack muttered. "I did not need the Delancey brothers on top of a long day."


	7. Scuffle

David wondered why the entrance of the Delanceys into the dining hall effectively shut up everyone present; even Blink and Smurf, who moments ago had been insulting each other at the top of their lungs, fell silent.

The two riding counselors stopped near the table, the younger one of them leaning over Jack's shoulder. "Well, looky what we got here," he said, ostensibly to his brother, but loud enough for the room in general to hear. "A mama's boy, a pussy and" he paused. "What the hell are you?" he demanded of David.

"At least fifty points higher on the IQ scale than you are," David answered without thinking, then realized what he'd said and paled. He didn't get into fights at school often, but when he did it was invariably because he said something without thinking; he was intelligent enough and cynical enough that sarcasm wasn't even second nature, it was somewhere at his very core. And judging by the look that went over the guy's face as he figured out what David had saidthough given how long that took him, David didn't think he'd been that far from the truththis was going to be one of those times when he accidentally got himself into a fight.

The guy started to answer, but Racetrack cut him off. "Leave it alone, Oscar," he muttered.

"Or else what, Higgins?" Oscar demanded. "You'll tell your _mom?"_ He sneered and laughed, as did his brother, but no one else was moving or making a sound.

"Yeah, I thought I might," Race answered causally. "Since she's the camp owner and directorand the one who signs your paychecksshe might be interested in hearing about you harassing campers."

Oscar froze for a second and narrowed his eyes. "Your word against mine," he said flatly.

"Yeah. Mine, and all of these witnesses," Race agreed, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Oscar started to lunge for him, but Morris was apparently the smarter of the two and grabbed Oscar's collar, effectively choking him until he stopped struggling forward. Oscar turned and glared at him, which got no reaction other than an eye-roll. But when it became clear that he wasn't going to attack anyone, for the moment at least, he turned his attention back to David, apparently still smarting from the insult.

"So what's the new guy doing at camp for one summer?" he asked, leaning far too far into David's personal space for his liking.

"Uh."

"Parents sick of you?" he suggested.

David decided it would probably be best not to say anything, in case Race either couldn't, or didn't feel like, defending him again. But to his surprise it was Jack, not Race, who answered. "Aww, Oscar," he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy, "just 'cause you're twenty-five and still live with your mother so she's _gotta _kick _you_ out in the summer, that don't mean Dave's family don't like _him."_

Race laughed and muttered under his breath, "And you called _me_ a mama's boy."

Oscar looked positively livid at that, but was smart enough to try and attack Race again. He decided to ignore him and back up to Jack's comment. "Yeah?" he snarled. "Like _you_ should talk about other people's families, Cowboy."

There was finally another noise in the room; the people watching from other tables went "Oooooooh," collectively. David didn't know quite why, but it was clear that that insult was a nastier blow than any of the rest of the verbal sparring.

Jack swallowed hard and stood slowly. He ground the knuckles of one hand into the palm of his other, and the gesture was made even more menacingly when they cracked loudly. "What was that?" he asked mildly.

"Just that you're right. The new kid's probably got a _great_ family. I bet his parents didn't send _him_ away for the summer so they could get divorced without telling himor move across the country without telling him."

There wasn't a reaction from the onlookers this time, because Jack started moving before anyone else _could;_ this time, he was the one who lunged forward, and there was a blur of motion. David couldn't quite follow it, but it looked like Jack managed to get a swing at Oscar, who tripped backwards and knocked into his brother, while Race jumped up, grabbed Jack's other arm and pulled him backwards. Oscar started forward again, Jack ducked and Race got the full force of the punch in the face, leaving him with a bloody nose and what would probably eventually be a nasty bruise.

Jack sprang back up and landed a return punch on Oscar's face, accompanied by a knee to the groin, and Oscar stumbled back into his brother again, who shoved Oscar aside and started forward himself. Meanwhile, apparently not really affected by the bloody nose, Race threw himself between Jack and Morris, yelling for help, and did his best to keep them apart. They were both hesitant to let him get caught in the crossfire again, his threats to bring it all to his mother fresh in their minds, but that didn't slow down Morris for very long. He started forward, trying to get around Race, who stepped in his way and got shoved hard back _out_ of the way for his trouble; Race crashed into one of the other tables, tripped over a chair leg, and let out a string of curse words as he fell and slammed hard into the floor.

David decided it would be prudent to not be anywhere near the fight and scrambled away from the table, as someone else waded into the fight, one of the guys from Ferguson bunk, by grabbing Jack so he couldn't do any more damage. Jack struggled but the camper either had a good grip, or was a lot stronger than someone with such a skinny frame should have been, or both, because it was futile, but the problem with that was that no one held back Morris, who got a clean shot at Jack's gut while Jack was immobilized.

He probably would have kept throwing punches, as none of the campers seemed as eager to grab him as the guy from Ferguson had been to grab Jack, but Race was back on his feet and, once again, threw himself in the way. Morris jarred to a stop quickly, no doubt thoughts of being fired for punching Mrs. Higgins' youngest son still floating through his mind.

_"Enough," _Race said through clenched teeth. "You two, get _out."_

Morris glanced back at Oscar and they didn't move for a moment.

"Now," Race added forcefully, and the two of them turned on cue and stalked back out the door they'd entered from minutes before. The kid released his hold on Jack. "Thanks, Spot," Race murmured, and started to say something to Jack, but before he could get in a single word Jack had also turned and stomped off through a different door, heading out to the back porch.

Race took a deep breath, and only then seemed to notice that his face was hurting quite a lot. "Oh Jesus _Christ,"_ he muttered and grabbed a napkin, pressed it to his nose to stop the bleeding. "Someone wanna get me some ice from the kitchen?" he added, and one of the campers did so. He pressed that against his face, too

Race looked around the room seriously; no on else had left. "Nothing happened here," he decreed.

"Yeah, 'cause your mom ain't gonna get curious about the bruise," Spot muttered.

"I'll deal with that. _Nothing happened here._ And if it did, Oscar threw the first punch. Okay?"

There was a very quiet murmur. Race fixed a glare on Spot. "Okay, Conlon?" he repeated.

"Yeah, whatever you say," Spot agreed.

"Good." Race sank down onto one of the benches and slowly, people returned to their conversations. David hesitantly went back to where he'd been sitting.

"What What just happened?" he asked, kind of dazed.

"I got beat up." Race rolled his eyes.

"They weren't aiming for you, though."

"Well, yeah; better they hit me than Jack. 'Cause Jack could get fired, and me, I just get grounded. You spend enough time having people make fun of you for your parents running the place, you learn to work it to your advantage, ya know?"

"I guess," David agreed, though he really didn't know at all. "But what? I mean" He trailed off.

"Those two were Oscar and Morris Delancey. They never grew up from their high school bully days, close as I can figure. Though I doubt they even graduated from high school." He paused, then grinned from behind the napkin and ice. "Fifty points smarter, where'd that come from?"

David shrugged.

"Well, whatever. They're jerks, and Jack He attracts more than his fair share of jerks, really. Things ain't exactly great for him at home, his school's full of assholes, too."

"Whose isn't?"

"Yeah, good point. But he" Race shrugged. "He gets a little sensitive, and since the Delanceys have been workin' here, their favorite hobby's baiting him."

"Even when he was a camper?"

"Yeah. They got no shame. If I was Mom, I'd have fired them years ago, but" He dropped his voice and finished conspiratorially, "I don't have the sort of control over what she does that most people seem to assume." His voice went back to normal. "And anyway, I may _be_ a mama's boy, but I don't have to let idiots like them say so, do I?"

"Uh, I guess not." David cast a look out the windows. Jack was leaning against the railing on the porch, staring out at the lake. "Is he okay?"

"Hard to say. Like I said, he's real Sensitive. About his family."

"Hmmm." David kept watching the figure, little more than a silhouette, out the window. Race removed the ice and napkin and discovered the bleeding had stopped; he stood up to throw the bloody napkin out. When he went to sit back down, he saw David had left, starting for the door out the porch, Jack's copy of _Dune_ clutched in one hand.

*

Jack heard someone approaching him slowly and figured it was Race. He didn't bother to look up, just shoved a hand in his pocket and groped for the pack of cigarettes he kept there. He knew he shouldn't smoke on camp grounds, especially not where campers could see him, but figured he'd be in trouble for starting a fight anyway and he might as well. It wasn't like it would get much worse.

He fished out a cigarette and lit it, wondering why Race hadn't said anything yet. They were good friends, after spending the past ten summers together, plus writing and occasionally visiting during the rest of the year, but sometimes Race could get really annoying. Jack figured this would be one of those times.

"What?" he finally demanded testily, and took a drag on his cigarette.

"I uh I just You forgot your book."

Jack finally looked up and saw it was David watching him, not Race. David held the book out, and Jack accepted it suspiciously. "Yeah, thanks."

He turned back to the lake, watched the reflection of the moon. David didn't leave, just kept half watching him, half watching the lake. "Just, uh, are you okay?" he finally asked. "I mean, you got hit a few times"

"Fine."

They fell silent again.

"Race send you to talk to me?"

"Uh, no. I just You looked really pissed, I" he trailed off.

"You what?"

"I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. I said already."

"Yeah, okay."

Jack turned and glared at him. "What?" he demanded.

"You don't, um, _sound_ fine."

"Race got hurt worse than me, why don't you go bother him?"

"Because Race didn't freak out as soon as someone mentioned his family, and he went back to normal when the fight ended."

"How do you know this ain't how I am normally?"

"Because it's not how you were acting before those thugs walked in. We _were_ having a conversation."

"Maybe I don't feel like conversing."

"Up to you, I guess." David sat tentatively on the wooden bench that lined the porch, and watched the lake. A breeze picked up and the water rippled. "It's a good series," he added.

Jack extinguished his cigarette and sat, not next to but not terribly far from David. "Why do you care if I'm not fine?" he demanded.

David shrugged. He didn't have much of a reason, really. It just felt like he _ought_ to care; he'd have cared if it happened to anyone. He was cynical, not apathetic. "I guess I just I mean, I thought you might want to talk to someone or something. But if not I'll You know, leave you alone."

He started to stand, embarrassed he'd followed Jack to the porch at all, and took a few steps before Jack called out for him to wait.

"I just ain't used to people caring if I'm okay," Jack said. "I mean, especially people I don't know."

David nodded with understanding at sat back down where he had been. Jack sighed and gazed out at the lake. "What's _your_ family like, Dave?" he asked.

"Oh, they're Okay, I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Well, my parents make me nuts sometimes, but that's normal, right? They're constantly worried that I'm too antisocial or something, they're always telling me to be more like Sarahmake more friends. That's why they sent me here this summer to, and this is a _quote,_ learn to like myself, so that other people will like me, too."

Jack half-smiled. "People really want you to be _more_ like Sarah?"

"Well, I get better grades, mostly. My parents like that But they think I'm a loser. Not that they'd say it like that, but they do." He sighed. "But they mean well, I guess."

"That's worth something, ain't it?"

"Yeah Yeah, I guess so."

There was a quiet, and finally Jack said softly, "My family ain't so great."

David looked over at him, concerned. "I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it; he didn't have to know exactly what was wrong to know that Jack wasn't okay. That much had been made obvious.

"It's just I mean, the first summer I was here, I was just a kid. I was seven My parents dumped me here for the summer and when I got back in August, Mom had moved out. She'd been cheating on Dad for, like, three years, and he was" Jack trailed off and finally finished bitterly, "He was an asshole. Still is. They got divorced, didn't want me _worry_ about them, they said, so they did it while I was gone for the summer."

"Oh Oh God."

"Yeah." Jack shrugged. "Well, they only got married to begin with 'cause he got her knocked up anyway." He looked over at David, who looked kind of shocked. "Mistakes happen," he added bitterly.

"Yeah, I know, Les" He trailed off.

"Les? He's the one in my bunk, right?"

"I don't know. I guess I shouldn't be telling you thishe doesn't know"

"The kid was an accident?"

"Yeah. Sarah and I were born, and Mom figured that one boy and one girl was enough unless they invented a third kind. Dad had a vasectomy It, uh, didn't work that well. So six years after _I_ was born"

Jack cracked a smile. "Poor kid."

"Yeah, I don't think I was supposed to know either, but when they decided to give Sarah and me the Talk, it kind of came up."

"You mean your parents actually _gave_ you that talk?"

"Well, when Sarah started to date" He shrugged. "Yeah, it wasn't the most fun I'd ever had."

"Them being well meaning again?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not their fault they make me nuts" He trailed off guiltily, realizing that he probably had it easy compared to Jack, given what he'd just heard. "Sorry," he added quickly.

"For what, not being screwed up? It ain't your fault my family's the way it is."

"But, lots of kids have divorced parents" David said, half-hopefully.

"Yeah. Not quite like mine." Jack looked back at the lake and began talking again. It was easier to say everything aloud if he didn't actually _look_ at David. "The first summer, the divorce, that was pretty bad. The second summer though I came home and Mom had moved across the country, moved to New Mexico with her boyfriend, gotten engaged."

"Oh Well, that's"

"It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't almost as big an asshole as my dad. They had custody of me, which was fine, except Jordanmy stephe wasn't too thrilled about having me around to remind him that Mom had already been married once before. Put up with me, mostly, until _they_ decided to have kids. Then he didn't want me around _his_ kids, thought I was a bad influence. Thought I'd grow up just like my dad." He sighed. "Went back to court about it, I ended up at my dad's for about a year."

He shuddered involuntarily. "My dad" he started, then shook his head. "I was ten, I think. And thank God for Race and his family, 'cause I was still coming here for the summer and when I showed up with bruises and a broken rib Mrs. Higgins liked me, she asked what had happened and I told her and" He trailed off. "She can be real persuasive when she wants to, called my parentsboth of 'emand threw a fit. End of the summer, I moved back in with mom and Jordan and their precious baby.

"Joint custody, though. So now, since then, I live out on the ranch and my step-dad _hates _me, and I don't think Mom likes me all that much either, really, and for any breaks from school longer than three days, I get shipped off to New York.

"Dad doesn't want me hanging around any more than I want to be there. So I still spend my summers here"

He trailed off, finally finished. "I guess, I'm just a little"

"Sensitive?" David suggested, remembering what Race had said.

"Yeah. That."

"I'm sorry," David said again. "I know that doesn't help or anything, but Parents shouldn't treat their kids like that. And the Delanceys, for making fun of you for it"

"Well, if I get fired for punching Oscar, at least it'll have been worth it."

"You're not going to get fired," David told him.

"Yeah? They've been after me for years, since they've been working hereI bet the first thing they do is try and press charges."

"No, Race, uh, seemed pretty confident no one was going to tell his mother about it."

Jack half-smiled. "He's a real pal. His family's been real good to me, they invite me out here sometimes during the winter, too, to keep my away from my dad." He finally looked back at David. "You know, Dave, you're real easy to talk to. I usually don't talk about any of that stuff, it's not People treat me different when they know, and I hate it when people feel sorry for me. Even most of the guys around here don't know, so, uh, if you could"

"Not say anything?" David guessed. Jack nodded. "No problem."

"Thanks."

They sat in quiet for another minute. "I think I'm gonna head off. Didn't get much sleep last night." He half-smiled at David again. "But you already knew that, right?"

"Well, if you hadn't woken us all up"

"Turn about's fair play."

"Hey, it wasn't _my_ fault!" David protested as they headed back inside. Jack paused long enough to say goodnight to everyone, mock Race's still-developing bruise and left to get some sleep.

David sat down where he'd been before, but only for a minute before he decided that, anti-social or not, he wanted to get to sleep. His mind was still turning over everything Jack had said about his family, and everything he'd implieda broken rib, spending winters with Race's family to avoid his father. How things with his step-dad were almost as bed.

_It's not fair,_ he thought to himself as he walked uphill to his cabin, suddenly grateful for the parents he'd always considered overprotective and annoying. But Jack was right, they did mean well, and it could have been _so_ much worse. He sighed. _So another over-privileged suburban kid is shocked by how much life can suck._

He let himself into the cabin and began to dig guiltily through his suitcase. Most of his belongings had been emptied into a dresser in the cabin, but he'd left a few things he didn't think he'd need inside. One of them was the picture his parents had insisted he bring a copy of; they'd sent one with Les and Sarah, too. It was the photo they'd taken for their family Chanukah cards, with all five of them together.

His parents looked so content, and Les was always cheerful. Sarah was good with cameras and looked great, too, he thought with a stab of jealousy, because he had the awkward smile of someone who froze as soon as the lens was pointed at him. He looked like that in just about every picture ever taken of him, even when he was a kid.

_Yet somewhere else where's she's a natural and I just don't get it,_ he thought, but couldn't put any real bitterness behind it. It wasn't Sarah's fault that he was antisocial, after all. Maybe it really was like his parents said; maybe it was because he never talked to anyone. After all, he'd been able to talk to Jack with no problem

_Maybe they're right._ He yawned. _Or maybe Jack's just a nice guy._

*

"Hey."

David rolled over sleepily and saw that Race had walked in and turned on one of the lights. "Oh. Hi."

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah."

Race wasn't convinced that David was telling the truth about that, but shrugged it off. He probably hadn't been _very _asleep And since there was no one else thereSneakers was with the guys in the dining hall now, and Mush was talking to some of the guys in Ferguson, still hiding from his stalkersRace could ask a few questions that were burning in his mind.

"How's your face?" David added before he could say anything else.

"Sore. My mom's gonna freak out tomorrow, but The Delanceys are such creeps. I almost wish I could tell her what happened, try to get rid of them. But since Jack threw the first punch"

"Yeah."

"So you and Jack, uh, talked for awhile?"

"Yeah."

Race felt a slight weight lift from his shoulders. As far as he knew, Jack didn't ever really talk to anyone else at the camp; he was friends with them, joked around a lot, but never confided in them. He'd been Jack's sole confidant for a long time, and having someone to share that burden helped a lot. Except "About his family and stuff?" he added.

"Yeah."

"How much did he tell you?"

David sat up on his bed and almost hit his head on the ceiling of the cabin. "I dunno, all of it, I guess."

"Really?" That surprised Race, but he was pretty pleased, though suddenly a little nervous about Jack's decision to open up.

"I guess. I mean, about his dad and all"

"That's all?" Race asked, without meaning to.

"There's _more?"_

"Well, uh, Jack's got a lot of stories about his dad," he covered as smoothly as he could.

"He sounds like a real asshole." David paused. "Jack Jack's pretty nice, though."

"Yeah. Well, sorry to wake you up, Dave." Race turned the light back out and fell silent as he got ready for bed in the dark. _So Jack didn't tell him everything. I guess it's better this way, though. I just hope_ He could barely finish the thought. _I just hope that the look in Jack's eye when they came back inside wasn't what I think it was. But he was smart enough not to _tell_ David_

He glanced outside and could see someone with a flashlight approaching; a quick look at his clock told him that it was finally curfew. People might not be going to bed right away, but the cabin would be full again.

_He will tell David, though, eventually,_ Race thought as he slipped into bed, not really wanting to talk about the fight anymore. Especially not if Sneakers was there, since he would be obligated to report it to the Higginses. _I just hope David takes it okay. Otherwise Poor Jack._


	8. Sibling Rivalry

The next morning found David less tired, but equally grouchy. He managed to keep most of his comments to himself, though, since he didn't think he knew anyone well enough to snark at them first thing in the morning except _maybe_ Race, who he left alone because of the large purple and blue bruise that was already making him miserable enough.

Not quite as miserable as he'd end up, as it turned out. David slipped into his usual seat and noted that Jack also seemed to finally be recovering from his sleepless night, though the cup of coffee was still there. He leaned over and mumbled to David, "Keep an eye on Race's table. His mom's gonna _freak_ when she sees that bruise." Then he put his energy back into drinking his coffee and staring out the window blankly.

David glanced around and saw that Racetrack was now sitting at the table labeled number one; it was where both of his parents sat for meals, and he was clearly dreading their arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins were chatting with each other as they walked in and satDavid noted that Mrs. Higgins took the head of the tableand while he couldn't hear them, he could see the abrupt change as she laid eyes on her son.

Race tried to turn away from her as he answered, she reached out and brushed her fingers against the bruise, he winced painfully and she crossed her arms and said something else, clearly sharper than she had before. He answered, shrugging and gesturing a bit; she replied with larger, more emphatic gestures. He sighed, nodded, and slunk down in his seat. She said something else and then turned to one of the other campers. Whatever had happened, she'd had the last word and Race didn't look thrilled.

The rest of the meal passed without event and with little chatter, or at least little that David paid attention to. Smurf was talking about something and the younger kids were all discussing something, but he didn't really feel like following along. Instead, seeing Jack again, his thoughts returned to their conversation the night before.

He felt a wave of sympathy as he watched Jack finish his cup of coffee, and reminded himself that Jack didn't _want_ sympathy. Which was probably why, when Jack looked up and caught his eye for a second, he felt himself begin to blush. He turned away quickly and stared down at his breakfast, something that was probably pancakes, but could also have been applesauce. The taste certainly didn't give any hints as to which one it was supposed to be.

When he looked back up, Jack was staring out the window. David turned back to his food again, half-listened to the morning's announcements, and slipped out of the dining hall without further conversation. Once again, he found himself the first person back in the cabin, but he was followed quickly by the others. The morning chatter began to break through the haze of his strange mood.

"So what'd your mother say about the bruise?"

"Not much. She's saving the lecture for later."

"So what'd you tell her?"

He shifted his attention to another conversation, feeling awkward listening to talk about the previous night.

"Forecast says we're looking at a storm in the next few days."

"Maybe it'll be nice, we'll cool off some. So long's activities aren't canceled, I mean."

"Yeah, but it's supposed to be _really_ bad"

"Dave! You wanna run lines before we have to go? 'Cause I ain't learned any of mine yet"

It took David half a second to realize he was being talked to; he looked over at Mush, sitting on his bunk waving a script, and nodded. He found his own, left out on the table after yesterday's rehearsals, and adopted Race's bed as a chair so he and Mush were facing each other.

Mush had just opened his mouth to begin when there was a knock on the cabin's door. "C'min!" Sneakers called, and someone David didn't recognize opened the door. Sneakers looked over at him and paused for a second, then asked casually, "Hey, Bryan; what's up?"

Race glanced up from the letter he'd been writingDavid wondered why he wrote letters when it wasn't like he was even away from homeand added, "Hey, Mr. Denton."

"Yes, hello." He glanced around the cabin for a second. "I'm looking for a David Jacobs?" he added.

"That's me." David frowned; he didn't remember having seen this manhe assumed his name was Bryan Dentonaround camp before; he must have been some sort of counselor but he didn't look like the summer camp type. He was wearing a bow tie, and nothing could scream _I don't spend enough time outdoors_ more than that.

"We haven't met, I'm Bryan Denton, the head of staff and accounting for the camp. I just Have a few questions for you, regarding an incident last night."

"Oh."

"Perhaps you could spare a minute and we could talk in my office? It's just downstairs in the infirmary."

David nodded, suddenly nervous, and stood up. "Okay," he agreed hesitantly, thoughts of the pervious night's fight going through his mind. _What if the Delanceys _are_ pressing charges? What if Jack's going to get fired? Oh god What if he has to leave, if they send him back _home_ for the summer_

He started towards the door, and Denton turned to Race. "And Anthony, your mother asked if I'd please remind you you're supposed to be in the infirmary, icing your bruise."

He groaned. "I iced it all last night."

"Yes, well, you can argue with your mother if you like, but she doesn't pay me enough for that." He smiled, but somehow David wasn't comforted by what appeared to be humor. "Since she'll be waiting, you probably ought to do as she suggested. Or at least, I would, if I was you."

"Yeah." Race followed them out.

"Mama's boy," David muttered to him, joking.

"You wouldn't argue with her either, if you'd ever talked to her," Race protested. "She's kind of" He trailed off.

"Kind of what?" David asked.

"You know, it's probably best if I don't finish that sentence."

Denton managed a chuckle, and David smiled but couldn't bring himself to laugh. _How did they even find out about what happened last night? And why do they want to ask _me?

Too quickly for his preferences, the trio arrived at the infirmary. Mrs. Higgins was waiting inside, the nurse just behind her. "Let's see to your face," she commented, before Race could even get a, "Good morning, Triage," out.

"I really did take care of it"

"Yes, well, if you hadn't been involved in a scuffle like that to begin with, Anthony, you wouldn't have to worry about it," Mrs. Higgins answered sharply.

"Involved in a what?" he asked innocently.

"Anthony, darling, I love you very much, which is why if I find out you lied to me this morningand just nowyou'll be grounded until you graduate."

"I'm only going to be a junior this year, Mom."

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that, darling. I don't appreciate being lied to. Now then, Mister Jacobs." She turned her attention to David, who was now beginning to appreciate Race's fear of offending his mother, and thus she couldn't see the face Race was behind her. It was somewhere between incredibly pained, and desperately nervous, with maybe a tinge of anger thrown in somewhere. It was an impressive expression, David mused to himself, as he'd never seen anything quite like it. But then Triage whisked Racetrack away, and David glanced after them and could see that sitting father back in the infirmary, probably where they were supposed to be out of sight, were Jack, Oscar and Morris.

_Well, she's efficient, if nothing else,_ David thought, as they lead him down a small staircase to Denton's office. He got the feeling that either the office wasn't used very often, or Denton was impeccably neat, as there were no papers scattered around, very few decorations aside from pictures of his family, or at least David assumed they were of his family, and it looked like someone had squared the chairs up with a protractor so that they'd be perfectly aligned, with one behind the desk, and two exactly side by side facing it.

Denton took the chair behind his desk and gestured towards one of the other ones for David, who hesitantly sat down. Mrs. Higgins took the third and moved it to the side of the room, a bit more out of the way. "Uh, yes, David Jacobs," Denton said, then paused and dug through his desk for a moment and pulled out a few manila folders. One of them had David's name on it.

"Sorry to have to interrupt you and drag you down here, but, we've heard rumors of an incident last night and your name was mentioned."

David just stared at him. _Please tell me they don't think _I _was involved_ he found himself silently pleading. "Uh?" he finally managed, not really a question, but a suggestion that he was confused.

"Yes, well, not directly, but"

"What happened?" David asked, remembering that Race had claimed nothing had happened at all.

"We were hoping you would tell us that," Denton answered. "But it seemsas far as we've gatheredthat there was a fight between a few counselors in the dining hall last night."

"Really?"

"Were you in the dining hall?" Mrs. Higgins interrupted.

David looked over at her nervously. "Well, uh, for a little while." He really didn't want to have to answer any questions; he hated lying, he was bad at lying, and he'd just learned the extent to which Mrs. Higgins hated being lied to.

"Did you witness anything like that?" she asked. He shook his head, and she smiled a little. "David, it's very kind of you to be a bit, shall we say, misleading, on behalf of your friends, but this is very important. If counselors are behaving inappropriately, it is vital that we be informed."

_Friends?_ David asked himself. _Race and Jack, I guess_ Which was a strange thought; it hadn't occurred to him that after a few days of talking with each other, he could actually consider them friends. But they certainly acted friendly enough

Which just left him determined to make sure they didn't get in trouble.

"I didn't see anything, Mrs. Higgins, Mr. Denton," he finally said.

"How long were you in the dining hall for?"

"Um, maybe ten minutes? Not long," he answered. And it was more or less the truth; he hadn't been there long before the fight, and after the fight he'd left. Or at least, left for the porch, which was _like_ leaving.

"Did you notice who happened to be there?"

"Uh, most of the seniors, I guess."

Denton picked up the questions again, which left David a little relieved. Denton was a lot less intimidating than Mrs. Higgins, since David had a hard time taking anyone wearing a bow tie seriously. "Did you notice any counselors?" he asked.

"Uh" David trailed off, as if thinking about it. He hoped he was a better actor than he thought he was, because he was certain that at any second, they would realize he was lying and call him on it. "I guess, um, Cowboy was there. Yeah, he was reading something."

"Anyone else?"

"I, er, I think I passed Sneakers on my way back to the cabin And maybe one of the girls' counselors I don't really remember."

"Hmm." Denton paused. "Are you at all familiar with the riding staff?"

"Only Cowboy. I, uh, don't like horses very much"

"But do you know which counselors are on the riding staff?"

David shook his head no.

"Hmmm." Denton glanced over at Mrs. Higgins.

"David," she said, gently but firmly, "we _know_ what happened; we know that Jack got into a fight with Oscar and Morris. We're just trying to figure out why, to make sure that our response is Appropriate."

_Appropriate, like firing someone?_ David thought to himself, but gave her his best confused look. "That Must have been after I left, ma'am."

"Mmmhmmm." She raised an eyebrow and didn't look terribly convinced. "Perhaps we haven't impressed the importance of this issue to you?"

"No, I understand," he said quickly. "I mean I mean, of course if it's important and if I _had_ seen anything I'd tell you right away, but I just didn't. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

Her face was absolutely neutral, and finally she nodded. "You," she said, "are not a very convincing liar."

He had no idea how to respond to that, so he said nothing.

"Are you certain you don't want to tell us anything?"

He almost said yes, then realized that was admitting he _did_ know something. "Uh, I don't _know_ anything."

She sighed. "Fine," she said. "Well, thank you for you time anyway, David. And if you happen to hear somethingor _remember_ somethingI hope you'll tell me or Mister Denton right away."

"O-of course, ma'am."

"Very well." She gestured towards the doorway, which David took as his cue to leave, and he hurriedly made his way back up the stairs. Race was now sitting in one of the spare chairs, pressing a large ice pack to his face; Jack was sitting next to him, muttering about something. The Delancey brothers were sitting in the opposite corner, muttering amongst themselves and glaring.

Everyone turned to look at David as he entered the room. He half-shrugged and walked over to talk to Race and Jack, and Mrs. Higgins stepped in behind him. "Well, _gentlemen,_" she said sharply. "It seems you are all off the hookthis time. But if I hear any more rumors of this sort, I will be _very_ upset. Do I make myself clear?"

The counselors in question agreed quietly, and Race lowered the ice pack from his face and gave her a questioning look, but didn't say anything. She rolled her eyes visibly. _"You_ are _also_ very lucky," she snapped.

He shot her his most charming smile and went back to icing his face. "David," she said again. "Please keep this in mind. If you hear anything."

"Uh, of course, Mrs. Higgins," he said again, and she nodded to Denton and they retreated back to his office. David glanced around, Triage was gone, probably to do her morning inspection of the bunks. He let out a visible breath, and noticed that so did everyone else in the room.

"Well, we oughtta go to work, huh?" Jack asked cheerfully. "Gotta get ready for the kids an' all." He smirked at the Delancey brothers, clearly wanting to crow _I got out of trouble yet again,_ and stood. "Walk with me, Dave? Riding's on the way back to your bunk, anyway."

"Uh, okay."

Jack threw an arm around David and they walked out, side by side. "You seriously just saved my life," he hissed in David's ear as they walked. "I owe you so much."

"It's okay," David assured him. "She didn't believe me, though."

"But you didn't say nothing? At all?"

"I said I talked to you for a minute, then left to go to bed. That if there was a fight, I missed it."

"Okay, yeah, Race and me can work with that. You're a lifesaver. You are my new best friend. I mean it, Dave, I could _kiss_ you."

"Uh."

"I ain't gonna," Jack added quickly.

David was too busy trying not to blush to notice that Jack suddenly looked a little bit flushed himself.

"It's really okay," David assured him. "It's uh" He faltered. "It's what friends do for each other, right?"

"Gee, Dave, maybe your family was right to send you here. You made a friend or two already. Keep up like this an' by the end of the summer, you'll be Mister Popular." But Jack was laughing as he said it, and for a change, being teased didn't bother David at all.

And David couldn't help but notice that Jack still had an arm around his shoulder.

"Gee, ain't they _cute_ together, Morris?" sneered a voice behind them.

They froze in unison. Of course the Delanceys were behind them, David realized; they had to get to the riding unit too. Jack glanced back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, ignore them," he murmured, practically in David's ear.

"Let's see, if _he's_ a pussy" David remembered that was they'd called Jack the night before, "I guess that makes the new kid a fag, lookin' at him now."

David swallowed hard, not sure how to react, and Jack turned around. "Hey," he snapped. "Lay off him, dumbass, he just saved _your_ job too."

"Oh yeah? _You_ started it, Kelly. _I_ wouldn't get in trouble."

"Funny," David said, turning around to stand with Jack. "The way I remember itit's all coming back to me now, really_you_ got really angry at Jack and punched _him,_ and he was just defending himself. Yeah, I remember, I ought to go tell Mrs. Higgins what happened, I promised her I would, after all. She was _very_ concerned."

The Delancey brothers glared at him, but didn't say anything.

"Come on, Dave," Jack said again, and nudged his shoulder. "Let's go."

They walked the rest of the way to the riding unit together in silence. Jack paused before heading to the stable, and started to say something, then shrugged. "Sorry I got those two on your case," he said instead.

"Don't worry about it," David answered. "I'll see you at lunch, right?"

"Yeah. See you then."

*

Lunch was also uneventful, though Jack's mood seemed to have improved, which David found to be something of a relief. Nothing interesting happened, not even any particularly exciting announcements, until the campers were filing out for their brief rest time before afternoon activities. David was talking with Race and Mush as they left the building, and was surprised when his own sister came up and forcibly interjected herself into their conversation.

"David. Talk. Now."

"What?" he asked, rightfully confused. It was the first sentence she'd said to him since their parents had dropped them off. "Uh."

She gave Mush and Race a fake smile, grabbed David's wrist, and pulled him away. He followed, but only because her grip was rather tight. "Owww," he whined as he rubbed his wrist.

"Wimp."

"Shut up. Did you _want_ something?"

"Yes." She crossed her arms. "Since when are you and Jack so close?" she demanded.

"What?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You and Cowboy. You know, the incredibly adorable riding counselor who you seem to spend _every waking minute _with?"

_"What?"_ he asked again, even more confused. "I don't even go to riding."

"Every non-activity minute, then. You talk all through every meal like there was no one else there, I've seen you do it the last few days."

He shrugged. He supposed that they did talk a lot, but "So what?" he asked.

"So you _also_ talk all the time after dinner and all. _And_ everyone saw you hanging out at the stables after breakfast."

"I was there for about three seconds."

"With Jack."

"Well, yeah, we werewait, why do you care?"

"Because _I,"_ she said haughtily, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "like Jack."

"So?"

"So I _like_ Jack," she said again.

"Um. So?"

"So I"

"Okay, see, the thing is that I heard what you said, I just have no idea why I'm supposed to _care."_

"Well, do you remember when you had that crush on my friend Carolyn?" she asked.

"In, like, eighth grade?"

"Yeah."

"Uh I guess," he agreed. "So?"

"So do you remember how I helped you out?"

"Telling her family stories about me was _not_ helping me out, it was humiliating me."

"Oh, come on. The horse thing was cute."

"It was not. It was traumatic."

She rolled her eyes. "_Any_way. Remember how I helped you out?"

"Again, I point out that you did not"

"Shut up. The _point_ is, I'd _like_ you to return the favor."

"What favor? You didn't"

"Ught. Just, has Jack ever, you know, mentioned me?"

"Yes."

"He has?" she asked, practically squeaking. "What did he say? What did _you_ sayhave you ever told him anything about me?"

David grinned. "Remember how you helped me out with Carolyn Johnson back in eighth grade?"

She looked suspicious. "What did you tell him?"

"Bye, Sarah. I'll see you around. But remember, we're _definitely_ not related." He started to walk off.

"David, I will make your life at home miserable if you do not tell me what you told him," she promised.

He shrugged. "Have fun with that. Hey, guys, wait up!"

And with that he broke into a jog to catch up with Racetrack and Mush, who were just disappearing from view To catch up with his friends, who stopped and waited for him.

"What was that about?" Mush asked.

"Nothing, she's just insane," David answered. "So what were you saying about a thunder storm tonight?"

*

David lay awake on his bunk long after everyone else's breathing became slow and even, and Skittery started snoring. He wasn't sure what was keeping him up; he was sleepy, though not as exhausted as he'd been the first two nights. And it had been a good day, pretty much, aside from right after breakfast and right after lunch

And he didn't care much about being mean to Sarah, anyway, which he supposed made him mean and a terrible brother, but he was willing to accept that. It was just the meeting with Mrs. Higgins and then the second confrontation with the Delanceys that he couldn't quite get over.

_I've never lied like that before,_ he mused, as a few raindrops began to spatter on the roof above him. _I guess I'm kind of a goody two shoes. I mean, I'd _never_ do anything like that at school but there's no one at school I'd want to do that _for

He supposed it didn't matter. He'd gotten Jack off the hook and that was what counted. Nagging thoughts about why that was so important to him, and why the thought of Sarah chasing after Jack irritated him so much kept floating around his mind. He did his best to ignore them, and listened to the raindrops spatter on the roof, and eventually growing louder and louder.

By the time they drowned out Skittery's snoring, David was asleep.


	9. Rainy Day

When the first bell rang in the morning, David thought that it had to be either a mistake or a prank, because it was pitch black outside, with no sign of dawn. He groaned and rolled over, fully prepared to go back to sleep. It was only the fact that Sneakers's alarm clock went off a moment later that proved it really was time to get up.

It was still pouring, and thundering. Well, at least that explained where the dawn had gone; if it was storming that hard, the clouds would be thick enough to block out the sunlight. Still, though. It was stormy, and probably cold, and it seemed that no one wanted to get out of bed. The only one in the entire bunk to budge was Sneakers, and that was just to turn off his alarm.

And then, like a sign from God, the outdoors lit up with lighting and a thunder crack broke almost directly overhead. It was loud enough and close enough that no one could have ignored it or gone back to sleep, and David was relatively sure that Skittery had actually screamed. _Fraidycat,_ David thought sleepily, as he sat up just in time to be thoroughly amused; from his sitting position he could see Snitch in the bottom bed of the next bunk over roll out of bed without bothering to stand up, pulling his blankets with him.

"Mmmph," he mumbled from the floor, and David suspected that what he'd said was actually a four letter word, but it was hard to tell.

Race got up and stepped over him; Skittery made his way down the ladder and tripped over him. He repeated whatever he'd said before, more emphatically.

"Remind me again why we have to go eat breakfast on mornings like this?" Blink demanded.

Mush also forced himself to get up, and upon seeing Blink still lying in bed, reached up and stole his pillow.

"Because there's coffee in the dining hall," David answered, and finally began the descent down to the floor.

"Jack been rubbing off on you or what?" Mush asked, as Blink tried to grab his pillow back, but was faced with the choice of grabbing it and crashing down to the floor or letting it go and not injuring himself. He chose to avoid injury at the last second and grumbled a bit as he finally got out of bed.

"What?" David asked.

"Jack. Drinks a lot of coffee." Mush paused. "And smokes too much."

"Well, I don' do _that."_

"Figures," Skittery answered, as he made his way to the bathroom. "Goody two shoes. Can we call him _that?"_

David rolled his eyes, and Race answered, "Nah, he's a pretty convincing liar."

David half-smiled. "Uh, thanks?"

"Liar?" Sneakers asked, vaguely interested. "Why do I feel as though I'm contractually obligated to report that to your mother?"

Race blanched a little. "It's too early in the morning for this," he groaned. "David's never told a lie in his life. Really. Promise."

"That's what I thought." Sneakers reached for the grubby items that were his namesake and them on over socks that seemed far too clean by contrast. "Way to save Jack's job, though, Dave. Not that I know anything about what happened. Nope. I didn't hear anything about it."

"Woah, what?" Snitch asked, then paused. "You mean that thing with Denton yesterday?"

Race grinned and beat David's shoulder affectionately. Or at least, David assumed it was affectionately, given that it could have been a lot harder. "Let's just say David" he paused, and shot a sideways look at Sneakers, who was pointedly, painstakingly fixing his shoelaces and not listening, "has some memory problems about what happened in the dining hall. So of course he couldn't answer any questions about it."

"Oh," Snitch said. "That's cool, man."

David shrugged nonchalantly, but inwardly wondered if that was the first time he or anything he'd done had ever been described as cool. He decided it probably was, and for a fleeting moment wondered if maybe his parents were right; maybe camp was a good, normal thing and this was what it was like to be, well, normal.

But he figured that it probably wasn't that easy. It couldn't be.

The second bell rang, and was accompanied by another thunderclap, and then all he was thinking about was how much he didn't want to go outside in the rain.

*

That morning, David discovered that the theater leaked. He'd begun to spend more and more time there, helping to paint flats and sew costumes when he wasn't needed to rehearse. The theater group of campers seemed to be a fairly close knit group, and while he definitely still felt like The New Guy, everyone was friendly enough.

The fact that Mush treated him like a pretty good friend helped, too. He seemed to be the center of the theater crowd; the counselors clearly liked him and all knew him well, he was good with the little kids, and since all of the older campers except David were girls, they all seemed to have crushes on him. Which, somehow, Mush took in stride.

Well, except for the time he spent hiding from them, which was whenever he possibly could. But the theater wasn't that big, and he was on stage for most of the time, so he couldn't hide very well or often. But at least being on stage kept him occupied, so that they couldn't bother him _too_ much.

David watched a few of the girls fawning on him from one of the benches in the audience while he made tissue paper flowers that would eventually be Red Riding Hood's props, and shook his head in disbelief.

"Gotta wonder how he does it, huh?"

Startled, David swiveled to see Blink sitting behind him.

"Shouldn't you be trying to drown Smurf somewhere?" he asked, having already learned of the infamous boating beach feud.

"Waterfront's closed for the storm."

"Oh, right." That made sense.

"_MISTER BALLATT, _I do not mind you spending your free time in my theater while you're temporarily homeless," Lark called from on stage, "but you had _best_ be making yourself useful."

"Yes, Lark," he agreed, and picked up a few sheets of tissue paper.

David wondered how many years Blink must have been coming to camp for the theater staff to know he spent all of his time at the boat beach Or maybe everyone just knew _everyone_. It certainly seemed that way a lot of the time, though there were definitely cliques. Like the theater clique, though Blink seemed to be welcome there too. _Maybe because he's Mush's best friend?_ David wondered. He felt more confident at camp every day, but didn't have all of the social politics down yet.

David finished the flower he'd been working on; it was a little lopsided, but not too bad. He set it down, then snatched it back up as he realized the bench was damp and would ruin it. Frowning, he investigated why the bench was damp, and discovered a slow but steady drip from the roof. "That can't be good," he commented.

"There's more of them backstage," Blink answered. "And a couple over there." He gestured vaguely towards the back of the theater, where the door was.

"How do you know?" David asked.

"Been there forever."

"How do you know that? You don't really seem to hang to be a theater person or anything."

Blink shrugged. "Basically everyone works on the big productions," he answered. "And anyway, Mush makes me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Actually, just about all the buildings around here leak. All the cabins especially."

"Ours?"

"Yep. But not too bad, don't worry."

"Uh, okay."

Though as it turned out, David ought to have worried.

*

The morning passed slowly; the storm showed no signs of letting up, and after a few hours passed, no one seemed to be in a good mood anymore. Everyone at lunch seemed either cranky or withdrawn, or both. Mrs. Higgins declared there would be a meeting for all department heads before releasing the campers for their soggy march home. Even with an umbrella or a raincoat, it was impossible to trek all the way back to Pentland without getting soaked.

Fifteen minutes later, Sneakers arrived back at the cabin; David remembered that he was the head of the archery unit. "Right," he muttered, sounding less than thrilled. "All afternoon activities are cancelled. Too damn much rain."

"So what do we do?" David asked.

"We have a bunk-in," Race supplied. "Right?"

"Yep. Have fun, guys, I've gotta go deliver the message to everyone else."

"Um, wouldn't it have been easier to do that on the way up here?" David asked.

Sneakers glared at him before setting off again. No one said anything for a few minutes, just changed from their soggy clothes into dryer ones. "So" David asked eventually, once again realizing that he was _still_ The New Guy, "What's a bunk-in?"

"It's when we just hang out all afternoon. They plan activities and stuff for the kids, but we're old enough to entertain ourselves," Race explained.

"Sounds Really dull."

"Yep."

David sighed and climbed up into his bunk, figuring that he could nap, or at least warm up and dry off under a few blankets, and discovered that Blink had been wrong. There was a large leak in their cabin. Directly above his bed.

He said a very, very nasty word.

"Wow, I didn't think you _knew_ words like that," Mush commented. "So what's up?"

"Leak. On my bed."

"Oh. That sucks."

David checked and discovered that his blankets were all soaking wet, his sheets were beneath him, and furthermore the water had soaked through to the mattress, which was equally sopping wet. He repeated his earlier statement.

"So?" Snitch asked. "Just put your spare sheets on."

"What, so that _they_ can get soaked, too?" David demanded testily.

"We'll shove the bed over," Race decided. "No problem." So David scrambled back down to the floor, and with Snitch and Skittery's help the shoved the bunk bed over directly against Sneakers's bed, which cleared _just_ enough room for the drip to drip onto the floor. Race dug into the cabinet under the sink and found a medium sized pot inside.

"Dude, there's cooking stuff in there!" Snitch discovered.

"Well, yeah," Race said. "We've got a stove, so"

"I didn't know we could _use_ it, though. How'd you know that was there?"

Race rolled his eyes. "Who do you think gets the fun job of _stocking_ these cabins?"

"Oh, right."

"I don't even get paid."

"Poor baby."

"Shut up."

David stripped his bed and hung the blankets over the chairs that sat around the table, and the sheets over the table itself. The mattress, he hoped, would air out and dry quickly, because he wasn't thrilled with the thought of sleeping in damp sheets on a wet mattress.

_Well,_ he told himself as he sat on one of the blanket-covered chairs and stared out at the pouring rain, _I guess it could be worse._

*

"A bunk-in?" Smurf groaned.

Sarah stared around the cabin in something resembling mild horror. She didn't actually detest _most_ of the girls she lived with, but wasn't exactly thrilled to hang out with all of them. She didn't mind Shakespeare, who had the bed underneath hers, and Polecat didn't really talk to her and she didn't talk to Polecat, so that worked out okay. No one seemed to have figured out how to hold a conversation with Swinger, though people were beginning to try sign language (or a rough approximation there of, consisting mostly of pointing and yelling) to try to communicate. And Dreamer seemed nice enough, though Sarah didn't know her well.

The problem was Hotshot and Smurf, because while the two of them didn't seem to be best friends or anything, they were better friends with each other than with anyone else in the bunk, and they seemed to allied themselves against Sarah.

"Could be worse," Hotshot answered. "Chauncey could be here."

"Amen," Smurf answered. Hotshot had a point; the thought of spending the afternoon trapped inside a cabin with nothing in particular to do wasn't thrilling, but the thought of doing it under the watchful eye of counselor Chauncey, perhaps the single biggest stickler for rules in the whole camp, was even worse. At least this way, they had a little bit of freedom.

"So you mean we're _stuck_ here?" Sarah asked, flopping into one of the chairs. "With each _other?"_

"Yeah, are you deaf, or just stupid?" Hotshot answered.

Sarah narrowed her eyes and glared.

"Hotshot," Shakespeare chided. "We're going to be here all afternoon, could you _please_ try not to be a bitch the _whole_ time?"

"I'm sorry, _what_ did you call me?" she demanded.

"I didn't call you anything, I just said"

"She called you a bitch," Smurf answered.

"Stop goading her!"

"I wasn't goading her, I was just telling her what you _said,"_ Smurf answered innocently.

"Troublemaker."

Sarah wasn't sure if that was Dreamer or Polecat; someone had muttered it barely under her breath.

"I didn't call you a bitch," Shakes answered. "I just,you know, _suggested_ that _maybe_ life for the next few hours would be a bit easier if we all tried to be _pleasant_ to each other."

"Fat chance," Hotshot muttered.

"What _is_ it with you?" Sarah demanded. "Do you have a permanent case of PMS or something? Because my _God, _you _are_ a bitch."

"Oh yeah? Want to make something of it?" Hotshot demanded, and stood and glared angrily.

Sarah slowly got to her feet as well. "Yeah, maybe I do." She crossed her arms and met Hotshot's glare with a glower of her own.

"Hey, don't blow your wig, just igg," Swinger said, which, after three days, didn't even earn her a strange look.

"Okay, simmer down, there," Dreamer half-ordered, sitting up from where she'd been lying on her bunk. "No fist fights inside."

"Yeah, it's hard to get blood out of clothing," Polecat added.

The two of them received death glares for their trouble, but Sarah slunk back into her chair and was content to glare and occasionally mutter to Hotshot, who in return went back to her bunk and her conversation with Smurf.

Dreamer made herself comfortable again, and shut her eyes. It was clearly going to be a long and frustrating afternoon, and she just hoped that the screaming matches that were certain to happen wouldn't interrupt her daydreaming _too_ much.

*

The collective mood of the boys of Pentland didn't improve any as the afternoon wore on. Skittery seemed content to ignore the rest of the world by turning his discman up loudly enough that he was oblivious to the rest of the cabin, who, in could hear his discman clearly. As a whole, they decided that three times through the same _Best of Disco_ album was more than they should have to put up with.

Race managed to stop Blink from heading up a lynch mob, and the volume of Skittery's discman was decreased significantly after that. Though it would have helped more if he'd stopped humming aloud, but the rest of the bunk assumed that in the battle against the BeeGees, any victory at all was better than none.

The next incident involved Snitch, a tennis ball, several death threats if Snitch didn't stop bouncing it so that Mush could nap, Snitch's objecting that he had as much right to bounce his tennis ball as Mush did to sleep, Mush's claim that he had as much right to shove the tennis ball into a very delicate part of Snitch's anatomy as Snitch did to bounce it, and Blink and Race physically hauling the two of them apart before they could actually carry through with any of the threats.

Racetrack looked like he might crack under the strain of trying to keep the peace at any moment, though. He was muttering to himself under his breath, and all David could actually make out sounded like, "Not my (snarl) job, not even (snarl) getting paid (snarl), where the (snarl snarl snarl) is the (snarl) counselor?" and he was too afraid to translate the snarling back into English.

The constant drip, drip, drip of the leak into the pot of water didn't help anyone, either. It was almost as bad as the BeeGees. David glared at it hatefully, as though it had decided to leak just to spite him, like Mother Nature was trying to piss him off personally, and like the universe was conspiring against him. He wanted to follow Mush's lead and crash for the few hours that remained until dinner, but his mattress was still wet, and as a result he had nowhere to sleep.

"There's always Sneakers's bed," Race finally said, after David began bashing his head into the wall in rhythm with the dripping. "Since he apparently decided not to come back."

"Where d'you think he is?" Blink asked.

"Probably screwing Paint in the arts and crafts cabin," Race muttered, then at the horrified looks he was getting from David, "What? They're practically married anyway."

"They are?" David asked.

"Ew, they have sex in the arts and crafts cabin? Dude, I am never going in there again," Snitch decided.

"Yeah, they've been dating for five or six years now."

"Well, it's not like they don't do it in the archery equipment shed, too," Blink put in.

"Gross!"

"Please tell me they didn't meet and fall in love at camp."

"Nah, they"

"Oh, come on, they've had sex all _over_ camp, duh."

"That is seriously nasty. I mean, this is a freaking _camp."_

"met in college. Sneakers had been coming here for years, this is only Paint's third, since they started wanting to spend summers together too."

"Well, _I'd_ like to score at camp."

"I guess that's sweet."

"Yeah, but with who?"

"Do you guys _mind,_ I am trying to _sleep_ over here!"

"Yeah, they live together the rest of the year. She's in grad school for"

"Okay, so most of the girls aren't exactly my type, but"

"fine arts, and he's a middle school PE teacher."

"a few of them are kind of hot."

"Are you serious? They are not."

"Hey, you guys said my _walkman_ was loud!"

"PE teacher? Wow, Jack was right; he _is_ evil."

"No kidding."

"You don't think any of them are hot? Aren't you and Swinger, like, dating?"

"Not really, we kinda hooked up last summer"

"Excuse me, I _said,_ I am trying to _sleep!"_

"What, you need your beauty rest, Mushy?"

"and yeah, I was kind of _hoping_ to maybe do it again, but"

"I must still seriously be an outsider, I don't know any of the gossip."

"she won't freaking speak English."

"_It's all right, it's okay, you can look the other way, whether you're a lover or"_

"Well, I only know the counselor gossip because I was here through the counselor orientation week."

"I _do_ need my beauty sleep, actually, it's why _some_ of us are more attractive than you are, dumbass."

"_whether you're a mother it's stayin' alive, stayin' alive"_

"Dude, I'm pretty sure those aren't the words."

"Gee, you don't have an ego or _anything_..."

"Hey, to be fair, the guy does have a harem."

"I give up, I'm not going to get any sleep, am I?"

_"Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive"_

"No, probably not."

"Damn it."

"Does that mean I can have my tennis ball back now?"

"No!"

"Hey, guys?" Race asked, managing to break through the din of the various conversations that were going on, his mood improving a bit now that people were talking instead of sitting around sullenly. "I'm bored. Anyone up for a game of cards?"

*

Looking back, no one was sure exactly who started the fight or how it happened. But by the time the first bell rang for dinner, the battle lines were clearly drawn. Sarah was allied with Shakespeare, not so much because they knew each other wellthey didn't, Sarah still didn't know anyone wellbut because Shakespeare was sick of listening to Hotshot mouth off.

Hotshot and Smurf remained firmly together on the matter of how much Sarah sucked, though. And they discussed it, loudly, in as much detail as possible. Swinger also joined in, more or less; no one was entirely sure what, "That bree's a real hincty yarddog," meant, but in general seemed to be agreeing with Hotshot.

On the other hand, Polecat stayed firmly out of the whole fight, and Dreamer was hesitant to get involved on either side. She'd given up trying to keep the peace, and now was just hoping to stay out of the whole thing.

This whole kind of fight was new to Sarah, who was used to the social politics of a high school, not a camp. Things were different at camp; she had to live with the people she was fighting with. That made things harder, though she was certain she'd figure out just how far she could go soon. She'd managed to work it out at school, after all.

The only problem was that Hotshot already _knew_ how much she could get away with. After four years, she knew exactly how to make trouble without getting caught, and by the time they left for dinner, she had some very definite plans on how to make her bunkmate's life miserable.

*

Sneakers was cheerful when he arrived back at his cabin, as the second bell for dinner rang. His clothes were soaked through to the skin, but he didn't seem particularly bothered.

Until he saw the looks on his campers' faces.

"Have fun, Sneakers?" Race asked mildly, looking up from dealing a round of cards.

"Uh."

Race finished dealing the hand and set down the deck, then looked over at David, who started laughing, which set off everyone else. Sneakers rolled his eyes.

"I was _just_ hanging out in the little kids' bunk; they need as many counselors as they can get when everyone is stuck inside. I don't know what's so funny."

"Is that a paint smear on your forehead?" Mush asked, which set off another round of laughing.

Sneakers rolled his eyes and began to peel off wet clothing so he could be at least somewhat dry for dinner, and dressed. He sat on his bed to pull on his socks and shoes, then jumped back up.

"Um, guys?" he asked. "Why is my mattress wet?"


	10. Male Bonding and Mosquito Bites

The rain continued for the next few days, though rarely as hard as it had been during the original storm. It died down as far as a mere drizzle a few times, though it would always get worse again, so that it was more or less consistently gross outside. The cabin continued to leak, so Race's and David's bunkbed remained shoved up directly against Sneakers's, which caused a certain amount of discomfort. Sneakers could only get in and out of bed by climbing over Race, and kept waking up with all of Racetrack's blanket's shoved on to his bed. Race was even more annoyed, though; Sneakers tended to sprawl in his sleep, and Race kept complaining about waking up due to being kicked, which Sneakers denied vehemently until Race actually had a bruise one morning.

But at least the bruise on his face was fading, though that seemed to be one of the only good things about the situation. The rest of the focus remained on the rain and the leak, the steady _drip, drip, drip _of which irritated everyone.

And finally, when it seemed as though no one could take the miserable weather anymore, the downpour lightened to a drizzle, to a fine mist, and finally the gray began to lighten and blue sky broke through the clouds. Sunlight reappeared, the drip stopped, and the whole camp let out a collective breath of relief.

David didn't even realize how much time had passed until Sneakers's alarm clock went off an hour early one morning. Sneakers groaned and turned it off, but Racetrack grudgingly dragged himself out of bed. David dimly recalled that Race's family went to church on Sundays, and more excitingly, that he could get away with sleeping until noon on a Sunday as well.

He rolled over and fell back asleep.

That night after dinner was the first theater performance of the summer. The show was simple and went off without a hitch, now that the audience no longer had to worry about being dripped on inside the theater. Mush, playing the misunderstood wolf who really wasn't trying to eat Red Riding Hood at all, gave a spectacular performance and David began to understand why so many of the theater girls loved him. And they seemed to get worse after the show, since it took him a full fifteen minutes to sneak away from his admirers.

But what really drove home that David had been at camp for a full week and was now an eighth of the way through his summer exile was the next morning, when Lark reminded everyone to check the seating assignments for the new week before heading in for breakfast. He did so, not wanting a repeat of the lost camper incident, and found out he'd been moved halfway across the dining hall, in with a totally new group of campers, but that counselors stayed at the same table all summer.

He wouldn't be at Jack's table anymore.

David's mood began to sink as he let himself inside, though he couldn't explain why. It was just disappointing, he supposed; Jack had become one of his better friends, and since David didn't ever go near the riding unit, and after the incident with the Delanceys Jack didn't usually go to the evening hang out sessions anymore, meals had been about the only time they saw each other.

The new counselor's name was Reesie, and David supposed she was nice enough. And at least this week, he had an idea who some of the other campers at the table were; he recognized Spot and Itey from Ferguson, the other Senior Boys bunk, and knew Trixie and Katie, one of the Junior Girls, from the theater. Ten-Pin he didn't know, and Boots he recognized but also didn't know well, and there was one of the really little kids as well. The dance counselor, Bumlets, sat at the foot of the table; David knew who he was because he worked inside the theater a lot, and with the theater counselors.

He drank his coffee quietly, pleased to see the sun shining outside already, but still disappointed, until he glanced across the room and saw that Jack was looking over at him too. Their eyes caught and Jack smiled, and David smiled back nearly against his will. Things began to look up after that.

*

"Three-four-five-six-seven-eight, _one_-two-three-four" Bumlets counted, and ignored the urge to check his watch again. He knew it had only been a minute or so since he's last checked, and that at any second the counselor who supervised the group of seven and eight year old girls he was working with would tell them it was time to go, and he could head back to his own cabin and crash until dinner.

He knew it wasn't their _fault_ they were uncoordinated, and seemingly unable to count to eight on their own (let alone silently in their heads), they were just young. But it was still frustrating.

" six-seven-eight!" he finished, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. "That was pretty good," he added.

At least the kids were having fun. He wondered again why he'd taken this job instead of spending the summer as he usually did, training, performing and competing. _I wanted a normal summer,_ he reminded himself. _And this is normal. It's a normal summer job, right? I fought my parents for this. It's normal. Yeah._

"Okay, kids," Fern, the counselor who'd been watching decreed, "let's all say thank you to Bumlets and go get ready for dinner."

There was a little bit of whining, which he took as a positive signthe group really was having funbut eventually the kids chorused a loud "Thank you!" and Fern herded them out of the area of the theater they'd cleared of benches to use. He watched them go, then grabbed his bottle of water and finished it off.

"They're looking better."

Bumlets glanced over his shoulder to see Specs, one of the theater counselors, sitting a few benches away.

"They're doing all right," he agreed. "For kids."

"Hey, your day off is Wednesday, right?"

"Um Yeah."

"Cool. Actually, that's mine and Dutchy's too. You wanna go in for a hotel room with us?"

"What?"

"Trust me, it's better than coming back here for the night. The more time spent away on your day off, the better. And with three people paying, it's pretty cheap."

"Uh, okay. I guess. I mean, do you have a car and stuff?"

"My friend, you haven't experienced driving at its finest until you've ridden in my baby." Bumlets gave him an odd look, and he shrugged. "I really dig my car," he added.

"Okay. Sounds cool, then. Is there anything to do around here?"

"Not really, but it's still better than spending your day off at camp."

"Fair enough."

"Oh, one other thing. I just want to make sure that Dutchy and I won't bother you." He paused significantly, waiting for some sort of answer.

"Were you especially planning to bother me?" Bumlets finally asked.

"Not really, but some people get a bit uncomfortable when we, you know, share a bed and stuff."

"Oh." Bumlets thought about it for a second. _"Oh._ Well, that explains why it says 'Specs heart Dutchy forever' on one of the walls backstage."

Specs coughed a little. "That wasn't my fault," he said. "Blame Stage."

"Blame me for what?" Stage called from the stage, where she was finishing supervising the first read through for the new week's show.

"Nothing!" Specs called back innocently. "So it won't bother you?"

"Nah."

"Cool. We'll head off after dinner tomorrow, then." He paused. "And immediately head to a restaurant where we can get something edible."

"Thank God." Bumlets grinned. Specs gave him an encouraging smilehe wasn't sure why he was being encouragedand got up to head back to the stage and the job he was supposed to be doing, leaving Bumlets to his thoughts.

*

David stared up at the roof, then glanced over at Mush, who was also staring up at the roof.

"Come on up, dude!"

"Um?" He couldn't see the entire roof from where he was standing, on the path leading to his bunk, but he could make out at least four people on top of it.

"The ladder's around the back," someone else added, and David recognized it as Racetrack's voice.

"Okay, but, what are you guys doing?"

"Patching the leak!" called someone else; David was less certain, but figured it was probably Blink. Mush started to circle around the bunk, looking for the ladder.

"That takes three of you?" David asked hesitantly.

"Three?" Race called down. "There's fivesix now that Mush is on his way upc'mon, the roof can hold one more."

"Uh." David paused, then figured that the worst that could happen was the roof collapsing, and it wouldn't really be his fault. He followed Mush and made his way up a rickety ladder and on to the roof. "Do I want to ask why this is taking the entire bunk?"

"It's male bonding," Skittery informed him.

"The leak wasn't that big."

"Yeah, but we don't know where it is, so we're tarring the whole thing," Race explained. "Sneakers and I talked to Mom about it, since sharing a bed was not our idea of a good time, and she said that since I know where the stuff to patch it is, we might as well do it ourselves, _so"_

"Somehow, I'm not sure this is what she expected," Sneakers mused.

David glanced around, then started laughing. "You realize you're tarring yourselves into a corner?"

"What?"

He pointed at where the majority of his bunkmates, plus Sneakers, were clustered. They'd been tarring from the ladder at one corner to the corner diagonally opposite it, and had managed to get a decent section done, but were also blocking themselves from the ladder.

"Oh." Sneakers stared at it, then shrugged. "It's not so far to jump down."

"You're insane."

Sneakers stuck his tongue out at David and went back to tarring. David sighed and realized that he couldn't have crossed the roof to help them if he'd wanted to, without getting covered in tar, and there were a few huge, gooey footsteps where Mush had crossed. And Mush himself was no stuck to the roof by his shoes.

"C'mon, it washes off," Blink promised.

"You sure?"

"Well, eventually. I mean, it _is_ waterproof, and that kind of makes it hard to get off with water," Race clarified.

"Great." David hesitated, the decided that if everyone else was willing to get coated in the stuff to keep his bed from being leaked on, he probably ought to help. He didn't particularly want to; he'd been feeling kind of down since that morning, lethargic and achy (probably from getting too much sun, he figured) and had a bunch of freaking mosquito bites on his stomach and back which were really itchy and annoying. But he ignored them and did his best to leap over the tarred area to join his friends, failed miserably, and could barely pull his sneakers out of the gooey black mess.

"Male bonding, huh?" he muttered, mostly to himself. "Now I remember why I don't have any friends at home."

Race laughed and slapped his back playfully, handed him one the buckets of tar to hold level, and they all got back to work.

*

The first bell was ringing. David groaned and rolled back over in his bed, buried his head beneath his pillow, and wished it would stop. He didn't feel well. He could hear people chatter around him and ignored them, even after the second bell rang.

"Uh, Dave?" Sneakers asked. "You should probably, you know, get up and stuff."

"Uhhhhhght," he groaned.

"You okay?"

"No."

"What's wrong?" Sneakers asked, and it occurred to David that it was the first time he could remember Sneakers actually sounding like a counselor.

"Want to _die."_

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"Urght." David made himself sit up. "Just Achy. Tired. Headache. Lots of fufreaking bug bites."

"Hmm." Sneakers considered it, then, "How about we send you to the infirmary instead of the dining hall?"

"Urgh."

"You already said that. C'mon, out of bed."

"Uuuuuuught."

"You can sleep there, promise."

"No, I'll be fine." David forced himself to get out of bed, groaned as he stepped on to the floor, and immediately sat down on Race's bed.

"You okay?" Race asked, which David thought was just a bit redundant. He shook his head no anyway. He hadn't felt well the day before; now he felt downright awful.

"Right. Come on, I'm walking you to the infirmary before Triage leaves. The rest of you can get to breakfast okay on your own." Sneakers offered David a hand up, watched him carefully as he got dressed, and practically marched him out of the bunk.

*

"Hmmm." Triage glanced at David again, then down at his medical charts, then said, "Hmmm," again.

"What?" David groaned.

"May I look at those bug bites, please?"

"Uh, why?"

"May I?"

He shrugged and pulled his shirt up enough for her to see his stomach, and she frowned and told him that was enough. "They aren't bug bites, I'm sorry to say, David."

"Uh, they're not? What are they?"

"Well, I'll have to call your mother to make sure your chart is correct, but I suspect those are chicken pox. If you had them as a child, there's no mention on your medical chart. You lie down for now, though, and don't worry. I'll get some cream to help take the itching away."

David did as she asked, deciding not to think about it. He was certain he'd had the chicken pox as a kid; Sarah must have, and he'd probably have done it at the same time. And even if she hadn't, _Les_ would have, and he'd have gotten it. There was no way

He drifted off on one of the infirmary beds, and slept soundly until he heard the first bell for lunch ringing and his stomach began to grumble. He sat up and glanced around the now empty infirmary, or at least, the part of it he could see.

The infirmary was a long, narrow building; the room all the way to the left was where Triage slept and lived, and there was a bathroom and a room with locking cabinets to keep medicines in next to it, on either side of the hallway. Then was the main entrance room, with the staircase down to the basement and Denton's office behind a door in the corner, and three more, smaller rooms, each with one or two beds. He was lying on a bed in the first sickroom, without much to look at. An aging poster of a horse hung on one wall, there was a bookshelf with a full selection of the first twenty _Baby Sitter's Club_ books, another bed, and an armchair made up the rest of the furniture.

More time passed, and eventually he was bored enough that he picked up the first book in the series. He was somewhere near the end of itit was a rather short and easy readwhen he heard Triage return to the infirmary, clearly with a few other people in tow.

She let herself into the room he'd adopted and smiled. But then, David noticed that she was nearly always smiling, and he wondered if maybe she was demented or something. "I think I was right, unfortunately. Two of our youngest girls have it too."

"But My sister and brother"

"Your sister seems to have had it as a child. I'll need to ask your parents about that, too. I'm not sure we have all of the cases in yet, since something like this tends to spread around, so why don't you move to the back room? It's a little more private."

"Uh"

"And there are _Hardy Boys _books back there, which you might like a little bit more than the _Baby Sitter's Club_, hmmm?"

He managed a weak smile. "Gee, and it was just getting interesting."

She laughed and he got to his feet and treaded down to the last room on the hall. There were no posters here, but there _was _a window, and the bed he lay back down on was more comfortable. Probably just used less, he figured, and Triage was nice enough to bring him a platter with lunch.

He finished his meal and drifted off, and when he awoke he wasn't alone any more.

*

Jack watched David sleep and wanted to smile, but he felt too wretched. David still had _Kristy's Great Idea_ clutched in one hand, and was sprawled, tangled in the blankets, his curly hair mussed up. It was a pleasant sight, and Jack would have enjoyed it more, except he was pretty certain he was going to throw up any moment.

David stirred, dropped the book, rolled over and saw him watching. "Hey," he managed.

"Hey," Jack repeated. "You weren't at breakfast. Or lunch."

"Yeah."

"Triage says we've got chicken pox."

"You too?"

"Yeah. There's a couple othersus back here, the girls next door, and your little brother in the first room."

"Oh. Huh. I wonder why Sarah isn't sick"

"Dunno. How you feeling?"

"Godawful."

"Me too." Jack paused. "But the company could be worse, I guess."

David smiled a little, and nodded. "Yeah, it's"

He was cut off by Triage knocking on the door and walking in with a portable phone in hand. "Jack, dear, why don't you call home and talk to your mother? Then you can, David. I'll need to speak with them both before you hang up, of course, just give a holler and I'll pick up in my own room for privacy."

Jack nodded, but wasn't thrilled by the idea. He already felt bad enough, and didn't really want to pull his family in to the matter. But at least he'd have David to make sure he was okay after the conversation. If David still cared if he was doing okay, the way he had after the fight the week before Jack doubted that David even know how much that had meant to him.

His stomach was tied in knots as he dialed, and he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't feel like talking to his family, because he didn't know if David _would_ still want to make sure he was okay, the way he had the week before, or if he just felt sick.

The phone rang. "Hello, this is the Kelly residence, who's calling, please?"

Jack recognized his half-sister's voice, and the speech she always used when she picked up the phone. She was only seven, but she thought it sounded more adult to answer the phone the way her parents did. Not that they usually did it like that, only when they were trying to set a good example, but apparently it had worked.

Jack just found it irritating, though. "Jess? It's me, Jack Yeah. Hey, is Mom around?"

He found out that yes, she was, and a minute later she picked up the phone. "Jack, this had better be important," was the first thing she said.

_Well_, he figured, _I've gotten worse greetings. That's not so bad._ "Hi, Mom. I missed you too," was what he said aloud.


	11. In the Infirmary

"Hi, Mom. I missed you too."

She ignored his comment. "Well, Jack?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't call, but I'm kind of sick."

"And you'd like me to do _what_ about it? For God's sake, you're supposed to be _seventeen_, and I do not have time to"

"Mom!" he half-yelled, cutting her off. "Sorry to interrupt whatever you're doing, I know how much you like pretending I don't exist when I'm gone"

"Jackson Francis Sullivan Kelly, don't you _dare_ take that tone with me. Either tell me what you need or get off the phone; I'm expecting your father to call."

"Dad?" he asked, genuinely surprised. His parents rarely spoke, and when they did it was usually to argue about which one of them would be responsible for paying for his plain tickets.

"No. Jordan is"

"Jordan's not my dad."

"Jack, I do not have time for this."

"Well, it ain't exactly my idea of a good time either, but the camp nurse wanted to talk to you."

"Can't you have her call your father?"

"Somehow I doubt Dad remembers if I had chicken pox as a kid."

"And you expect _me_ to? God, Jack"

"Look, just talk to the nurse, awright? Sorry. It wasn't like I _wanted_ to get sick or anything."

"Jack." She paused, then sighed. "Jack, I'm sorry you're not feeling well, I just I'm a bit stressed at the moment, and Jordan was supposed to call an hour ago and Oh, never mind."

"It's okay." He recognized the tone and what she always thought was subtle language, but wasn't. She and Jordan had probably had another fight, he had probably left the house afterwards and hadn't come back yet. "Don't worry, I'm sure things will be fine," he added, because as much as he hated his step father, he did care about his mother.

"So you've got the chicken pox?"

"Looks like it." It always amazed him how quickly his mother could shift modes; it was like once she got something off her chesteven if she didn't think he'd understood itthen she could be calm. Or maybe she knew he understood, given his answer, and she still preferred to pretend things were fine. After all, she'd pretended for three years before she'd divorced his father

He pushed the thought out of his mind.

"Well, I don't remember if you had it off the top of my head, but I can call the doctor's office tomorrow and find out if they've got a record."

"Okay, thanks, Mom. Can you spare a second to talk to the nurse?"

"I suppose. Put her on."

"'Kay." He covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand and yelled down the hall for Triage to pick up. "'Bye," he added as she picked up, but his mother ignored him in favor of talking to Triage. He clicked the phone off and tossed it down on David's bed, then slumped until he was lying down on his own. "That coulda been worse," he murmured aloud.

"You okay?" David asked.

"Yeah, I guess. My mom is crazy is all."

"How so?"

He shrugged. "Just" He trailed off. "I fucking hate the way Jordan treats her. And when they fight she gets in a really pissy mood and I guess I have bad timing, 'cause Yeah, anyway, it's fine."

David looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't and bit his lip a little. "Sorry," he finally said.

"Don't worry about it." Jack rolled on to his side, so he was facing David, and gave him a wan smile. "Mom's not so bad, when Jordan isn't being an asshole. First Dad and then him It's like she _wants_ to screw her life up or something."

"Maybe" David trailed off. "I think, there are some people who just like to find people who are, I guess, kind of not good people to try and fix them or something. Not that I think your dad isn't"

"Dave, my dad's the worst person I know. It's okay."

"Jack" David started, then trailed off. "I'm sure he's not that bad."

Jack shrugged. He _was_ that bad, but if David didn't want to hear about it, that was okay. David was lucky not to know anyone like that. Jack just wished he could be so lucky.

David still looked like he wanted to say something, then finally commented, "You know, I don't live that far from New Yorkif you ever need somewhere to crash, I mean, if you don't want to go to your Dad's."

Jack broke into a grin, though he didn't have a chance to answer. Triage called back through the hallway that David could call his parents, and also give the phone to Les so he could say hello. So Jack just smiled as David reached for the phone, groaned at the effort moving took, and dialed.

*

"Jacobs residence, who's calling?"

David couldn't help it; he hadn't been homesick, but hearing his mother's voice still made him grin. "Hi, Mom."

"David!" She paused, and he could hear her yell away from the phone, "Mayer, pick up, it's David!"

There was the sound of another phone clicking on. "David, how are you? I didn't think you were allowed to make phone calls from camp."

"Not until the third week, but, uh, I'm kind of sick. So the nurse wanted me to call home and double check some medical"

"Sick?" Esther interrupted. "David, it's only a four and a half our drive, we can be there in three hours"

"Mom, it's okay. I'm fine, mostly, just. Um. Sick."

"Sick with what?"

"Chicken pox, I guess. I mean, I _thought_ I had it as a kid, and Les is sick too, but it's going around camp and Well, I've got it."

"Oh, David, bubula, I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Mayer, can you call Doctor Spiegal on the other line and ask him to check David's charts?"

"Mmm. Hang on a minute, son, I'll be right back." The second line clicked off.

"So how are you, Mom?" David asked.

"Oh, things here are fine. I ran into that adorable Rachel Shapiro from your class with her mother a few days ago, and"

David only half-listened for a minute or so; he barely knew who Rachel Shapiro was, and didn't think he'd ever actually spoken to her. He suspected that she was a friend of Sarah's, the name sounded familiar.

"but I haven't gotten a single letter from you, David."

He recognized his cue to tune back in. "Sorry, Mom. I meant to write you last week but I've been so busy I've barely had a chance."

"Busy? Tell me all about it. Have you been having a good time?"

"Uh." He didn't really want to admit that his parents had been right, and camp wasn't the most awful thing he'd ever experienced, but the truth was They were right, and camp wasn't the most awful thing he'd ever been through. "The food is pretty bad," he finally said. "But most of the people I've met have been pretty cool"

"See, David, if you just give people a chance"

"Mo-_om,"_ he interrupted, and heard Jack chuckle at him. "Shut up," he hissed.

_"David!"_

"Not you, Mom, Jack is making fun of me."

"And who's this Jack, David?"

"He's one of my friends, and, uh, a riding councilor."

"You've been riding?" Esther asked, sounding pleasantly shocked.

"No. You know how I feel about horses."

"David, I thought you were over that."

"I had to see a child therapist for two years. It's not the sort of thing you just _get over._ Anyway. But yeah, things here haven't been so bad."

"So what've you been so busy with if you haven't been riding, hmm? How are Sarah and Les?"

"Uh, fine, I guess. Other than being sick. I mean, I don't see them muchSarah mostly rides and Les is in a totally different age group, so"

"Of course. So then what have you been up to?"

"Well, theater, mostly."

"Theater?" she asked, sounding surprised again. "You? On _stage?"_

"Geez, Mom, it's not a big deal. I mean, I wasn't a lead or anything"

"David, that's wonderful. You know, your father used to do a lot of theater in college, I met him working on a production"

"Of _Blithe Spirit,_ I know," David interrupted.

"Well, of course you do," Esther answered, only vaguely offended that David had cut off what she considered her favorite romantic story. She knew he already knew it, though; she told it with startling frequency.

"One of the guys in my bunk does a lot of theater so he kind of made me audition and It wasn't so bad. I got a part in this week's play, too, but it looks like I'm going to be stuck in the infirmary for awhile so I don't think I'll be able to do it. But it was pretty cool."

"So have you been outside at all?"

"Uh." He paused. "Well, I did try archery," he added, which was true, though he hadn't gone back since. "And I go swimming every day. Do you want to say hi to Les?" Changing the subject seemed like the easiest way to avoid explaining that yes, he was still too pale and too skinny, and it wasn't going to change. He forced himself to stand up, which took more energy than he wanted to admit, and walked down the hallway to the room where Les was dozing.

"Of course. But don't forget to write to us, David," she reminded him.

He shook Les's shoulder gently. "I won't," he promised. "Bye, Mom. Love you."

"I love you too, David."

"Here's Les," he finished, and handed the phone to his little brother, waited to hear Les's sickly, "Hi, Mom," and headed back to his own room, and immediately collapsed back onto his bed with a groan.

"You okay?"

"Sore."

"Me too." Jack paused. "Did you mean it when you offered to let me stay at your house?"

"Sure," David answered. "I mean, my parents would be thrilled at the thought of me having a friend overit's really sad how much of a loser they think I am."

"I don't think you're a loser."

David smiled up at the ceiling. The thought that Jack didn't consider him a loser was, somehow, comforting.

*

Bumlets picked up his water bottle and settled on one of the benches, and checked his watch. That was becoming less of a habit and more a nervous tick or a minor obsessive compulsive action, but didn't bother him that much. One activity hour left. Only a day until his day off

It wasn't that he disliked working at camp so much as he just found spending extended amounts of time with that many loud, hyperactive children irritating. He was a mellow enough person that he didn't snap at them, and for the most part they thought he was nice and liked him as a councilor, but he was definitely looking forward to spending some time outside of camp.

While waiting for his next group of kids to show up, he saw Specs wander in, still dripping from the waterfront, t-shirt in one hand and towel around his neck. "Um," Bumlets started, catching his attention with a wave. "Can I ask a probably stupid question?"

"Yeah, sure." Specs set his glasses down on one of the benches and leaned over to towel off his hair, then straightened up and put the glasses back on. "What's up?"

"Aren't you supposed to be a swimming councilor? Like Shouldn't you be at the waterfront?"

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" Specs answered cheerfully, then set down his towel and pulled his shirt on.

"Well, yes. But you seem to be, you know, _here,_ an awful lot."

"What happened was that I was _supposed_ to be a theater councilor. But they decided to hire Stage at last minute, and because I'm so very multitalented, they switched me to swimming. But I don't have a swim group for this hour, and I'm a theater guy at heart, andhey!"

A piece of wadded up paper bounced off the back of his head. He turned around to see Stage a few bench rows behind him, feigning innocence. "Is he complaining that I stole his job again?" she asked.

"Well you _did."_

"Whatever." She thwapped the back of his head and wandered away.

"See, you'd never know she's in love with me from that." He picked up the piece of paper and threw it back at her, missed, and she turned around for long enough to roll her eyes and then make a face at the back of his head as soon as he sat down.

"Uh Okay." Bumlets was left with the distinct impression that he was missing something.

Specs shrugged. "Long story."

"I'll take your word for that."

"Oh, and Dutchy said to tell you that there's a club that'll admit under-21 in town, just a few local bands playing, but better than sitting around watching infomercials all night. If you're interested."

"Sounds good, I guess."

"Yeah, trust Dutchy to find things like that," Specs said, sounding fairly dreamy. Bumlets wasn't quite sure how to react to that, but another wadded up piece of paper hit the back of Specs's head, and this time he got to his feet and began to chase Stage around the theater. Bumlets watched for a second, not entirely sure what was going on between the two of them, but was distracted by Pie Eater ushering in a group of seven and eight year old girls and boys, ready for an hour of theater and dance. It was time to get back to work.

He checked his watch again as he got up.

*

It was about twenty minutes later that Triage reappeared in the boys' room, finally off the phone with David's mother. "Well, David, you definitely never had chicken pox as a kid," she announced.

"But Sarah" he mumbled, and rolled over on to his side so that he could actually talk with her instead of into the air.

"According to your mother, Sarah _did_ have chicken pox, and you were at your grandparents' house that week, so you stayed an extra few days until she recovered," Triage explained. "And Les never had it either, so you didn't get it from him."

"Oh." David dug through his memories, and while he didn't remember having had it before, he didn't really remember Sarah having had it, either. But he supposed his mother was right, she'd probably checked it with the doctor, and she _remembered_ those things.

"And Jack, your mother said she'd try and get back to me later this evening."

 

"Yeah," Jack muttered. "I'm sure she'll remember."

Triage didn't comment on how cynical he sounded, though given her brief conversation with his mother, she wasn't terribly surprised either. "And we'll all be taking a field trip to the doctor's tomorrow."

"Gee. Goody."

"So how are the two of you feeling at the moment?" she continued.

"Tired and itchy," David said.

"Achy. Sore. And _really_ itchy," Jack added.

"Well, don't scratch; that just irritates the pox further and can lead to them being infected. And you may develop some on ratherum_delicate_ areas, and you _certainly_ don't want those infected."

She didn't get a reply other than two nearly identical grimaces, and David's face slowly turning bright red. She managed not to laugh at him; that would have been unprofessional.

"In the mean time, I've got some Benadryl cream, which will take away the itching. I trust you two would rather apply it yourselves than have me do it." Jack nodded, and David made a squawk that sounded like it was probably affirmative. "You might have to do each other's backs, but I'll let you figure out your own comfort zones," she finished, and handed Jack a white tube of cream.

"Thanks," he said, and she smiled cheerfully, waved, and left them to their own devices. Jack sat up and uncapped the tube, causing a distinctly medicinal smell to fill the room. He wrinkled his nose a little and squeezed some of the cream onto one of his fingers and began to find the sores and cover them. He sighed with relief as the cool cream took some of the sting out, and handed the tube over to David, who hesitantly sat up.

David began to coat his own sores and had to agree that, even if the medicine hadn't kicked in yet, the cool feeling was nice. He finished, then looked at Jack. "So. Uh. Your back?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind. I mean, I'll get yours too. Of course."

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

Jack paused for another second, then looked away from David and pulled his shirt off. "Probably looks pretty gross," he mumbled.

"I'm probably worse," David pointed out, and managed to get to his feet and walk the few steps to where Jack was sitting. He perched carefully on the bed behind Jack and began to rub some of the ointment on to the fierce red spots, and was glad that there was no way Jack could see the bright red color of his face.

Jack, on the other hand, wasn't blushing, but was staring very intently at the pillow in front of him and trying to think of what a cold shower felt like instead of how gentle David's hands felt against his skin. But then David finished and capped the tube; Jack pulled his shirt back on and hoped that the cream was rubbed in enough that it wouldn't smear around on the fabric or anything, and turned around to face David.

"Uh Thanks."

"Sure." David hesitated.

"So, you, um, want me to get your back?" Jack asked, and could have kicked himself for sounding like an idiot. It was just a casual thing, after all, and they were both _sick._ There was absolutely no reason for the thought of David taking off his shirt to make him sound so flustered.

"Uh, yeah," David agreed, and echoed Jack's earlier movement of staring straight down at the ground while he took his shirt off. Jack reached for the cream and opened it again, then carefully began to apply it to David's back, and ignored the fact that his hands were very slightly shaky.

He tried to force his thoughts back to his imaginary cold shower, but couldn't quite manage it, and instead heard himself saying without stopping to consult his brain, "Hey, are you as sore as I am?"

"I guess so. Uh, why?" David asked.

And again, Jack didn't stop to think; he'd finished rubbing on the cream, but instead of just letting David go, which he knew in some part of his brain that David probably wanted to do quickly, he began to gently rub David's shoulders. "Um, is that okay?" Jack asked, realizing that it was entirely possible he was crossing over some sort of line, and that David could easily be mad at him for it. _Hell, David could probably get me fired for it,_ he added mentally.

David didn't say anything for a minute, and Jack hesitated a little, but didn't stop. "That feels Pretty good," David finally murmured.

"Oh. Good." Jack managed to not breath a sigh of relief, though he felt it very much. "I mean, I just figured that since I know _I_ feel so damn achy"

"You hinting at something, Cowboy?"

"What? Oh, God, no." Jack hoped he didn't sound as panicked as he suddenly felt.

"Okay, fine. I won't offer to repay the favor, then."

This time, Jack _did_ exhale noticeably, but David didn't say anything about it. "Maybe I'll con you into it later," Jack finally replied.

"Sure. And, um, thanks."

"No problem, Dave." He gave David's back one last gentle rubwas it his imagination, or did _David_ seem to sigh a little bit? Probably just his imaginationand let his arms drop; David pulled his t-shirt back on and scrambled back to his own bed.

Jack watched David for a minute, though he didn't really mean to, and didn't realize he was until David half-turned away from him. "What?" David asked. Jack didn't say anything, though he noticed that David looked a little pink. _"What?"_ David asked again, when Jack didn't stop staring and didn't reply.

__

You're cute when you blush, Jack thought, but aloud just said, "Nothing. I think I'm gonna nap for awhile."

"Okay. I'll just, um, finish my book." He gestured sheepishly to where _Kristy's Great Idea_ still lay on the floor, then picked it up and made himself comfortable before opening it. He glanced over at Jack, who had laid down and rolled over to face the other wall, and then looked down.

But somehow, he found himself doing more thinking than reading. Getting a back rub from Jack had been awkward, but that wasn't what bothered him, it was the _kind_ of awkward. It wasn't a sort of man-those-sores-are-gross awkward, or even an I'm-too-manly-to-give-another-boy-a-massage kind of awkward. It had been Different.

He flipped a page idly, discovered he'd finished the book, and set it next to his bed. If Jack was napping, he might as well try to follow suit, but somehow he just kept feeling Jack's callused fingers on his shoulders. Somewhere between wondering if it was working at a ranch that had toughened the skin on Jack's fingers, and why he was thinking so hard about a stupid little backrub, David drifted off to sleep again.


	12. Off Work

Shakes held the flashlight as carefully as she could, keeping it low to the ground so that only a hint of light escaped. Sarah crept slowly towards the bed that contained her target, shaving cream bottle in hand and feather picked up from the waterfront in her other, with her heart racing. The area around the bunk that Smurf and Hotshot shared was a mess, since Smurf apparently had been raised in a barn and didn't understand the concept of folding clothing and putting it away. But somehow, she managed to tread silently, and she knelt carefully next to the bed.

Smurf's blankets were all askew, mostly kicked off the bottom or to one side; one of her hands was buried underneath her pillow, the other flopped off the bed, and one of her feet had kicked free of her sheets. Her hair was coming out of its ponytail, and snarled around her head, and though she moved around in her sleep a lototherwise the bed couldn't possibly have been _that_ messyshe seemed to be a very heavy sleeper. Or at least, Sarah hoped so.

What Sarah had really wanted was to get Hotshot, but Hotshot had the top bunk, and that would have made it too difficult. Smurf would do. She took a deep breath and let go with the can of shaving cream, into the palm of Smurf's hand, and almost shrieked as Smurf rolled a little, but she was only shifting in her sleep. Sarah finished piling on a large dollop of the stuff and shot Shakes a quick thumbs up, then crept to the end of the bed and began to use the feather. Carefully, gently, she tickled Smurf's nose, and noted to herself it was big enough to present an easy target.

It took a second, but Smurf finally began to react. She sneezed a littleSarah didn't realize it was even _possible_ to sneeze without waking up, but at least that meant Smurf really was a heavy sleeperand shifted in bed again. Sarah tensed and waited for the moment of truth. Slowly, unconsciously, Smurf freed her hand from under the pillow, rubbed her nose, and rolled over.

Sarah threw a desperate look over at Shakespeare, who shrugged, and then decided to give it another shot. But just as she was reaching out with the feather, someone else sat up. Not Smurf, but Chauncey, their counselor.

Shakespeare killed the flashlight as soon as Chauncey began to sit up, and Sarah crouched behind Smurf's bed. Given the bed and the clothes piled around it, she figured she had enough cover to shield her from a sleepy counselor, but then, Chauncey wasn't like most counselors. Chauncey was scary.

After what seemed like forever, Chauncey lay back down. Shakes didn't dare risk turning the flashlight back on, and a minute later Sarah crept nervously back to her own bed. It hadn't worked But on the other hand, shaving cream didn't just _disappear,_ and _something_ interesting was bound to happen come daylight.

*

Smurf said nothing as she got up. Sarah waited nervously for something, any sign that she realized something had happened during the night, but got no reaction. Smurf just walked to the bathroom, washed her hand and then got ready for the day. Sarah gave Shakes a confused look, and Shakes shrugged.

It wasn't until they were all on their way out the door that Smurf tapped her shoulder. Forcing herself to sound more calm than she felt, Sarah snapped, "What?"

"That was _really_ amateur, is all. You want to try pranks? Hotshot and I'll show you how it's done. You can count on it." And then Smurf sped up and caught up with some of her friends in Murphy Two and went back to ignoring Sarah, who was suddenly experiencing a feeling of dread.

Breakfast was always a fairly subdued meal, and Sarah ate quietly and tried to forget about Smurf's semi-threat. The meal ended and the day's announcements were nothing exciting, and she started back to her bunk, only to be interrupted by one of the boys.

"Heyhey, wait up. You're David's sister, right? Sarah?"

She paused and glanced at him; he was the blond one with the eyepatch. She knew most of the campers on sight by now, if not by name, and was fairly certain he was in David's bunk.

"Yeah," she answered. "And you are?"

"Blink," he supplied. "Look, the rumor is that you were trying to get Smurf last night."

"So?"

"So I'm all for pranking Smurf. Seriously."

"Okay" she said, confused, but she _did_ remember something about him fighting with Smurf. She'd definitely overheard them a few times; neither one of them seemed to know how to speak below a yell.

"So I'm just saying, if you're looking for ways to piss her off, I've been keeping a list for the last few years. If you want help." He grinned.

"What's the deal with the two of you, anyway?"

"Long story. Let's just say I can't stand her and her stupid blue hair, okay? And making her summer miserable is my number one goal for camp."

Sarah considered that. "Okay. Let's talk. But How did you know about it so quickly?"

He grinned. "Through the grapevine. Smurf was complaining to Trixie, Trixie thought it was funny so she told Mush, Mush thought I'd be interested. Haven't you noticed that around here? Everyone knows everything about everyone."

_So it's not so different from school after all,_ Sarah mused as they walked.

*

It was soon after breakfast that Race dropped in on Jack and David, having been volunteered by his mother to pick up their clothing and such to use while they were stuck in the infirmary. He wasn't supposed to stay long for risk of spreading germs, though he had been sick with chicken pox years ago, but did stay long enough to see that Jack and David were getting along well. More than well.

"You're a life saver," Jack mumbled as he dug through his backpack and found a set of clean clothes. "I feel so gross right now."

"Yeah, you look pretty gross, too," Race agreed. During the past two days, the pox had spread from the boys' torsos to their limbs, and sores were now visible on Jack's and David's faces, as well as arms. David sat up sleepily, not even having awakened at the first bell, said a quick thank you and disappeared to the bathroom for a cold soak, which would hopefully help stop the itching. Or so Triage claimed, anyway.

Race hesitated, then sat down on David's bed and faced Jack.

"Yeah?" Jack asked.

"Nothing," Race said, then paused. "Jack, you're staring after him like some sorta puppy dog. You know that, right?"

Jack shrugged.

"Jack. You gotta tell him."

"Why?"

"'Cause Look, you two are pretty good friends, and Dave doesn't seem like the type to freak out on you."

"Not a lot of people seem like the type, Race," Jack muttered. "Last time I told a guy I liked that I liked him, I ended up bleeding in the school parking lot the next day."

"Dave is too sick to hurt you, even if he wanted to. Which he wouldn't," Race argued.

"So maybe he ain't violent. That doesn't mean he'd be thrilled about it. And if he _is_ freaked out, what if he tells everyone else? I mean I know I don't have to be worried here, really, but I'm so sick of people looking at me different just because of my family and when you put that on top of it"

"He didn't tell anyone about your family, did he?"

"That's different. It doesn't involve him. Butyou know what he said? He said I could go visit him when I'm in New York, if I don't want to go to my dad's." He smiled.

"You know, Jack, that _could_ be a good sign." Race shrugged. "If you tell him how you feel. And if you tell him _now_ instead of later, he's less likely to freak out when he does find out. Which he will eventually, because he's definitely not stupid, and you are."

"I am not."

"Uh huh."

"Shut up." Jack sighed. "Just I just don't want to have him hate me, you know?"

"He won't hate you."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I'm sure. And if he's going to hate you, don't you think he'll hate you _more_ if you keep it a secret?"

Jack shrugged. "But"

"If you're that scared, just don't mention that you like _him,"_ Race suggested. "At least not for awhile. Let him get used to you being gay before you spring that on him."

"You really think I should tell him?"

"Yes."

"What if he _does_ freak out?"

Race managed not to roll his eyes. This was the reason he was glad that he didn't have to be Jack's only confidant anymore; he understood _why_ Jack was nervous to talk to people, but it was still irritating when he knew he was right and Jack didn't believe him, or when he was the only person Jack would turn to when he started to freak out.

"If he freaks out, tell him to talk to me, okay? I'll get him calmed down. Promise." Which Race only promised because he was certain David _wouldn't_ freak out.

"I guess you are the crisis line guy" Jack mused, referencing one of Race's many extracurricular activities, volunteering to answer phones for the local crisis line. Jack was always amazed how much Race managed to do in a day during the school year and still keep up his grades, though he had the feeling that Race's mother had a lot to do with it, and that given a choice, Race would drop a handful of activities in favor of a few minutes of free time.

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah, fine. But if this goes to hell, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough. I should get going, though," Race said. "I'm picking up the slack at riding since you're gone."

"Your mom's making you?"

"Yeah. I don't mind too much, just get well soon, okay?"

"I'll work on it."

"Okay. See you, Jack. Tell David I say hi."

"I will," Jack promised, and Race left him to his own devices. He relaxed on his bed, stared out the window, and wondered how to tell David that he was gay.

*

The minutes dragged by. Bumlets made an effort to watch the kids more than his watch, but it was difficult, and during the last activity hour, Medda actually asked Bumlets if he was feeling well or if he needed to go lie down, because he was so distracted. He forced himself to focus for the rest of the afternoon, but the thought of just getting _out_ refused to leave his mind.

He finished running the youngest kids through the routine he'd been attempting to teach them, wondered why he had to have the youngest kids when he'd reached his most tired by the end of the day, and checked his watch. Specs reminded him on the way out that they'd be leaving right after dinner, and he threw hastily threw together a backpack full of clothes for the next day and hung out with his four campers until dinner.

Dinner dragged as much as the rest of the day had. He'd been moved to Jack's table, since it no longer had a counselor, and ate as little as possible, thoughts of food with flavor dancing through his mind. And finally, _finally,_ Mrs. Higgins announced the after dinner activity for the evening and released them, and Bumlets very nearly danced the way back to his bunk, grabbed his backpack, and met Specs and Dutchy outside. The hike up to the parking lot was fairly fast, and that was where Bumlets first saw Specs's car.

"Huh," was about all he managed to say.

"Isn't it fantastic?"

"It's Different," Bumlets said, which caused Dutchy to start laughing, which made Specs sulk. Bumlets stared at the car in front of him. It was an aging station wagon, nearly as old as he was, and mostly brown, aside from the spots that were rusted, and the parts that were covered with bumper stickers. Which was a fairly significant amount; the bumper was full, the back of the wagon was full, and they'd begun to creep around onto the sides of the car. From his vantage point, Bumlets could see stickers for a handful of bands he'd never heard of, the Apple computers logo, a Boston University decal, a Fergangi Business School decal, a few with environmental slogans, an aging Gore/Lieberman 2000 sticker, a more aging Clinton/Gore '96 sticker, two fading right-to-choose slogan stickers, and at least four rainbow colored gay rights stickers.

"It's very me," Specs said.

"You're a gay tree hugging hippie feminist democrat Trekkie indie rocker?"

"Well, the Trek ones were my dad's, and the Apple and Clinton/Gore/Lieberman ones were my sisters. I just added a few, and then a few more, and then it became this _thing._ At least my grandmother doesn't give me socks for Christmas anymore, just bumper stickers. Actually, that's _all_ I get for Christmas now."

"There aren't _that_ many"

"The rest wallpaper his room at home. It's nuts," Dutchy explained.

"Wow."

"Yep." Specs unlocked his door and leant across the seat to let in Dutchy, who claimed shotgun unnecessarily and let Bumlets into the back seat. "I've had the car for almost five years. My sister had it for three before that, and Dad had it forever. She's old, but she's _sweet._ Lots of memories of this old beauty"

Dutchy swiveled in his seat to look back at Bumlets. "Just smile and nod, he's going to keep talking for awhile," he commented.

"Oh, shut up. You love the car too."

"Uh huh."

"It's true." Specs turned it on and fingered the gear shift in a disturbingly phallic manner. "He only loves me for the free transportation."

"Hey, I pay my share of the gas money."

"But not maintenance! Baby is old, she needs a lot of work. But _oh,_ when she works"

"He _really_ loves the car," Dutchy said again.

"Yeah, I'm kind of getting that feeling."

"Rob, darling, if you keep mocking me you can walk to town," Specs threatened, but since as he said it he pulled out of the parking space, it didn't carry much weight.

Bumlets could see part of Specs's reflection in the rear view mirror, and Specs was grinning. Bumlets began to relax; Specs and Dutchy seemed to be fairly relaxed about their relationship. As he'd said several days before, it didn't bother him and he was far from homophobic, but he wasn't entirely sure how to act around them as a couple.

"Music?" Specs asked after a minute, as the country roads whirred by outside.

"Sure," Dutchy said.

"Just hit play."

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"I know what CD you have in there, and I am _not_ listening to it again. You made me listen to it for four hours on the drive here. No."

"You know you love it."

"I really don't."

"Uh" Bumlets mumbled. "What CD?"

Specs let go of the wheel with one hand and grabbed the CD player from Dutchy and hit play. It was hooked to the stereo by an adapter cord, and Bumlets noted that the sound was surprisingly good for such an old car.

Then he noted that Specs was listening to Justin Timberlake.

"Oh."

"It's fabulous," Specs continued. "Once you give it a chance."

Dutchy muttered something under his breath, and ejected the adapter from the tape player, tuned the radio to the first station that came in, and relaxed.

"You're no fun at all," Specs sulked.

"Four hours, Rich. _Four. Hours._ Never again."

"Loser."

"Just tell me why."

"Because." Specs put the tape adapter back in.

"I've told you before, you can't do that." Dutchy ejected it, and Bumlets wondered why they were talking so strangely all of a sudden.

"Fine, then. I'll cry instead."

"Cry me a river."

Specs broke into a grin. "You quoted Justin! Ha!"

"And I just won. You're easy, Rich."

"Wait!"

"Too late."

Dutchy rolled his eyes, and Bumlets ran through the conversation again in his head. "How long were you two quoting lyrics for?" he asked.

"Oooh, good ear," Specs congratulated him. "Not too long. Most people don't even realize what we're doing. We've been doing it for awhile."

"Um. Okay."

Dutchy turned around again. "We started doing it in high school. It's a game; one person starts talking in lyrics and the other person has to respond. Whoever can't come up with a lyric first loses. And there's the added fun of people not realizing you're playing, once you get good at it."

"We did it for a full four periods one day senior year before our math teacher caught us," Specs added.

"Hmm." Bumlets considered it for a second. "You two are weird," he finally declared.

"So we've been told."

They drove in silence for awhile, until Dutchy began to fiddle with the radio station, he and Specs bickered about the music for a bit, and finally Specs pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant. "Just wait. This place isit's all home cooked. And it's good. My god, this is _good_ food," Specs said enthusiastically, practically bouncing as he lead them inside. Dutchy rolled his eyes, but was smiling as he watched Specs, and Bumlets still thought they were weird.

Specs was right, though. The food was excellent, and while maybe not home cooked, Bumlets noted that the cook was probably significantly better than anyone who had ever cooked in his home. It wasn't even expensive, and after two weeks of camp food, it seemed even better.

The hotel room was small, with a queen sized bed and a king sized bed, and while Specs diplomatically asked Bumlets which bed he'd prefer, Dutchy dropped his bags on the king sized bed, waved over at them, and wandered off to the bathroom for a shower.

"Well, that answers _that_ question," Specs muttered, rolling his eyes. "You don't mind?"

"You two are sharing the bed, it makes sense." Bumlets tossed his bag down and collapsed on his own bed. It was approximately eight hundred times as comfortable as his one at camp. He'd stayed in a hundred hotel rooms just like this one before, but had never noticed how comfortable they were before. "So" He paused. "What exactly is going on with you and Stage?"

Specs grinned and sat down facing him on the bed he and Dutchy were sharing. "Stage is in love with me."

"Um Does she know you're gay?"

"Yeah, she's pretty clear on that."

"Okay."

"Well, she didn't know the first year she was at camp, and I was the local Theater Boy. Pretty much like Mush is now, but gayer."

"Is he?"

"Well, he _says_ he's not." Specs shrugged. "And Stage was thirteen and had a thing for me, and I had just come out a few months before and freaked out because no one at camp knew yet, and after a few weeks of her following me around with puppydog eyes, I flipped out a little bit. It's kind of possible I freaked out and screamed at her a little."

"That seems a bit mean."

"You've never had a camper have a crush on you," Specs answered. "Basically, I was a bit unnecessarily mean. And Maverick yelled at me and I apologized and explained that I was gay, and had a boyfriend, and she demanded to see pictures of himDutchy wasn't there that summerand so I showed her a picture of me and Dutch together and You know, she decided we were the cutest couple in the entire universe. She met him the next summer, and suddenly 'Specs + Dutchy 4ever' appeared on the wall backstage." He shrugged. "She still chases me around, but now she's just joking."

"Right."

"Well, mostly joking."

"Right."

"Hey, she's not as bad as Hotshot, whenever she's at the waterfront. You know, usually I don't mind sitting around shirtless on a hot day, but she makes me feel kind of"

"Does _she_ know you're gay?" Bumlets asked, not wanting to know what it was Specs felt, given that he seemed to shudder at the mere thought of touching a girl.

"I made it a point to let her in on that."

"Gee, it must be hard, having so many girls chasing you."

"Hey, you actually _like_ girls."

"So it would be no problem if it was, like, Mush?"

"Yes, but they would be a different set of problems." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Dutchy gets jealous."

"So, how did you two get together? I mean, you said earlier you were in high school together"

Specs smiled to himself. "Dutchy is in a band." Bumlets raised an eyebrow, curious. "Well. Our school did a Christmas assembly every year and they'd have student acts and Dutchy's band was playing. And the band kind of sucked, but Dutchy was just over in the corner playing guitar and he _rocked,_ and looked so hot doing itI hadn't come out yet, it was halfway through tenth grade.

"Dutchy was out. I mean, Dutchy was never really _in_ the closet. And there he was, this gorgeous, guitar playing, blond gay guy, and I fell in love."

"Really?"

"Well, in lust. He was in my history class, but never actually went; I was kind of a suck up and so I always got to pick my own partner for projects. Three months later, a month after I came out, he finally got the idea."

"Awww."

"Yeah." Specs smiled. "We figured we'd probably break up when we left for college, but since we both ended up at BU, we're still going strong. Over four years now."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It's pretty Pretty fantastic."

"So he's still got a band?"

"Different band; guys from college. They're _much_ better." He paused. "I get the fun job of being the official roadie, because I'm the only one with a car that'll transport all of their stuff."

"Well, that's gotta mean more roadtripping, right? And I know you love your car."

"Yeah." Specs laughed. "Any excuse to drive it for hours on end, stuffed full of equipment and four other sweaty guys."

"Definitely sounds like a good time."

"Hey; the info packet we got said you're starting Boston College in the fall. You should go see them sometime. They're pretty good."

"Yeah, I'll try to, if I can. I mean I don't really know how everything's going to go yet."

"Don't worry, freshman year is _way_ easier than people think."

"Yeah, so I've been told"

"Seriously."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence, and the shower turned off; a minute later, Dutchy walked out of the bathroom, still dripping wet, a towel around his waist. Bumlets threw a glance at Specs, who looked like he might start drooling at any moment.

"So, what's up?" Dutchy asked, sitting down on the bed without getting dressed, wrapping one of his legs around one of Specs's, placing a damp hand on the side of Specs's neck.

"Uh," Specs said.

Bumlets rolled his eyes. "I think I'm going to take a walk. For an hour or so."

"Told you he'd be a good roommate," Dutchy murmured in Specs's ear.

Specs nodded, and dug into his pocket, found his car keys and tossed them to Bumlets. "Here. Go explore. Just" he cut off abruptly as Dutchy kissed his neck. "just don't" another kiss, and he sounded more and more distracted with every word, "scratch her, or"

"I'll be careful," Bumlets promised, and laughed. "You two are Something else."

So Dutchy was in a band, and Specs was easily distracted by his dripping wet, naked boyfriend. The first fact got filed under "interesting," and the second one as "obvious." Bumlets grabbed the card that let him into the room and shut the door behind him.

He had a city to explore, such as it was.

*

The doctor's office visit had been just about as pointless as David suspected. They confirmed that yes, the kids with chicken pox did, in fact, have chicken pox, and to treat it should continue to do exactly what they'd been doing already. David didn't have the energy to be properly annoyed by it, though. Instead, he dozed off in the van on the way home, Les half-lying across the seat next to him, and wondered what the rest of his bunkmates were doing. He half-heartedly wondered if Sarah was getting along okay, but figured she probably was; she always did.

He was the one with no social skills, after all. Except here at camp it seemed so much different; here there were people he actually _wanted_ to talk to, who seemed to like him back. He was friends with everyone in his bunk, he supposed, though closer to Mush and Race, and he was even better friends with Jack. The fact that they were practically locked in a room together twenty-four hours a day now hadn't even made them want to kill each other yet.

Not that they'd have had the energy to fight if they'd wanted to.

The van pulled back in by the infirmary, the campers piled out, and Jack put a hand on David's shoulder. "Uh, Dave?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Just When we get inside, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. Yeah, of course. What's up?"

Jack shrugged. "I've just Got some stuff to tell you."


	13. Rolly Polly Fish Heads

David sat down on the bed he'd adopted, and Jack sat down facing him. "What's up?" David asked, furrowing his brow a little bit, trying to figure out why Jack looked so serious. Even when sick, Jack didn't usually look _serious;_ he seemed to have a happy go lucky life philosophy that was startling, when David considered the life he'd lived it with. But then, David was a cynic to begin with.

Jack sat down opposite David, hands clenched together, elbows resting on his knees, leaning so far forward he looked like he was looking down. _Pensive,_ David thought; it was the best adjective he could come up with for the way Jack was acting.

"Jack?" David asked, when Jack didn't say anything.

Jack looked up, straightened a bit, and bit his lip. Finally, nervously, he stated, "Dave, I'm gay."

David stared at him.

Jack waited for a response.

David blinked a few times.

Jack swallowed nervously.

"Oh," David said finally. "Okay."

"Okay?" Jack repeated, sounding startled.

"Well Yeah. I mean Isn't it?"

Jack nodded quickly. "Just, I didn't know how you'd react. I, uh It's one of those things that I don't tell a lot of people."

"Okay," David agreed. "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. Well, he'd been worried about that, too, and this was sort of a weight off his shoulders. He started to tell David the rest, then stopped. David didn't care that he was gay, which was fine, but he'd probably be more freaked out if he knew Jack _liked_ him, and Jack decided one shock at a time was probably the best plan. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." He paused. "You know, you don't have to worry about telling me things, Jack. We're friends, right?"

Jack grinned. "We are," he agreed, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "I just get nervous telling _anyone_ that, I mean I, uh, had a couple of nasty experiences. I've lost friends over it, so"

"Sorry."

"Hey, ain't your fault."

"Yeah, but I'm still" He trailed off. "What happened? I mean, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it or"

"It's fine," Jack interrupted, and suddenly looked nervous again. "It was in ninth grade, and I was actually kind of popular back then, because Well, because no one realized I was gay yet. _I_ barely realized it. I mean, the town we live in isn't, uh, well known for being open minded." He took a deep breath and leaned back on his bed, making himself comfortable, staring at the ceiling, and began to narrate aloud the way he remembered things.

"I mean, I was pretty sure I'd never had a serious crush, though, just that all of my 'I wonder if' thoughts were always about boys And then there was this guy. He was Pretty amazing, really; nice guy, athletic, smart, funny You know, Johnny Highschool. _That_ guy."

"Football team?" David asked.

"Lettered, yeah. I swear, every girl in school had a thing for him, and his younger sister She, uh, had a thing for me. He was in eleventh grade and I was in ninth with her, and she'd invite me over a lot. We were pretty good friends, hung out all the time, and I really wished she didn't have a crush on me 'cause that made things pretty awkward, but eventually

"One day she went to wash some laundry or something and I was just sitting there in the room with her brother, and pretending I was watching TV or whatever we were doing and we started talking and got along pretty well. He started saying hi to me in the hallways, let me sit at his table at lunchand I was just a freshman, so that was a big dealand eventually, like, we became friends too."

David nodded a little, though Jack couldn't see it; he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as he spoke. David didn't want to interrupt, but he had an awful feeling this story was going somewhere extremely painful. Listening had the awful feeling of slowing down to watch a car wreck on the highway, but he was slightly mesmerized by Jack's voice, and if Jack _wanted_ to tell him he certainly wasn't going to stop listening

"I had a crush on him. I mean, of _course_ I did, he was everything I said before, and real nice to me, too, and one day started joking around about Being gay, stupid jokes, things that hurt me pretty bad because by that point I was _sure_ of what was going on. I liked him too much to brush it off, I was starting to worry about how to tell my mom and he started joking and I kind of _freaked._

"He didn't get why at first, and when he asked what was wrong I actually told him the truth. All of it, god, I was _such_ a moron. And he was kinda shocked, but" Jack stopped. "It was really fumessed up," he said, remembering that technically he wasn't supposed to swear in front of David. But he took a deep breath and continued anyway. "Well, he got over the shock pretty fast, and next thing I knew we were kissing and I couldn't _believe_ it, thought it was too good to be true"

He couldn't quite say it. It still didn't feel real; it wasn't supposed to have happened like that. Three years hadn't made it stop hurting, hadn't taken away the sting of betrayal that was worse than anything physical.

"And?" David asked, when Jack didn't say a word for almost a minute.

Finally Jack mumbled, "The football team beat the crap out of me in the parking lot the next day."

"Oh Oh my _God,_ Jack"

David didn't know what to say, which Jack had pretty much expected. "Yeah, well, I shoulda expected it, should have known better"

"Did you tell them about you and him kissing?"

"No." Jack rolled over so he was facing David. "Nah, wouldn't have done any good."

"Did you _talk_ to him after that?"

"I tried to, I I really wanted to know what happened. But he wouldn't talk to me, and his sister stopped talking to me too Just about everyone did."

"That's _awful."_

"Yeah, that whole school was pretty awful. Creeps." Jack sighed. "Yeah, and then I had to explain to Mom and Jordan why I was getting in fights at school so much all of a sudden, and they weren't exactly thrilled by it, either. By me, I mean. Jordan wanted to kick me out, but that was about the only time Mom really put her foot down, did something for _me."_

"At least there's that," David said, attempting to be optimistic. It wasn't easy, given his cynical nature, but he felt he _had_ to find an upside for Jack.

"Yeah; Jordan ain't gonna start charging rent until I turn eighteen. Got a good six months left."

"Wow, that's He _is_ an asshole."

"Yeah, pretty much." Jack shrugged a little. "That was about the worst of it, but I actually ended up in the hospital the next year, had to change schools after _that"_

"In the hospital?" David asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, Johnny Highschool was feeling aggressive one day, and the rest of the football team followed his lead." Jack shuddered a little, involuntarily. "I changed schools, and it always sucks to be the new kid, I guess."

"Tell me about it," David mumbled, and Jack chuckled.

"Yeah, you probably got that this summer. At least they only haze third years," Jack offered. "It does suck, though."

"A lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, and the new school It wasn't quite so bad. I mean, they found out I was gay pretty fast, 'cause it's in the same city so there are people who knew each other and rumors travel pretty fast, but I mean, it isn't quite as big a deal."

"No more fighting?"

"Not quite none, but nothing as bad. And hey, I'm not _too_ bad in a fight, I give as good as I get. Unless the whole damn football team" He trailed off.

"I can't believe anyone would do something like that," David said, catching Jack's eye.

Jack shrugged. "Not everyone's like that. I'm just glad _you_ ain't freaking out on me."

"I wouldn't do that, Jack," David promised. "I'd never hurt you, not like that."

And Jack just smiled a little. Because with David promising things like that, old betrayals suddenly didn't hurt so badly.

*

Bumlets knocked loudly on the door.

"C'mon in!" Specs yelled. "We're both decent!"

Bumlets slid the card key through the scanner and the light turned green; he pushed the hotel room door open. Specs and Dutchy were, indeed, dressed, and lying on their bed watching TV, not exactly cuddling, but there wasn't enough room to slide a piece of paper between the two of them. He tossed Specs the car keys, and settled on his bed.

"So, did you find anything interesting in this sad excuse for a city?" Specs asked.

"No," Bumlets answered. "I think the club you mentioned, and a grocery store, but nothing else was open."

"Yeah; they close everything at nine around here," Dutchy agreed. "The camp is fun, the city _sucks."_

Bumlets nodded his agreement and kicked off his shoes.

"There's just the club and the grocery story and an IHOP," Specs added. "Hey, you two wanna hit IHOP after the show tonight? I could seriously use a chocolate chip pancake with strawberries and whipped cream." He shot Dutchy a look. "Brings back good memories."

Dutchy ran a hand through his hair and ignored the comment, though Bumlets thought he might be blushing a tiny, tiny bit. Specs chuckled, and Dutchy gently smacked his shoulder and he laughed harder. "Domestic violence is never funny," Bumlets mused, which made Specs nearly choke, and Dutchy fake hit him again. Specs hit back, and that lead to a shoving match, which eventually culminated in Dutchy being shoved off the bed by a very triumphant and _very_ smug Specs.

"Jerk," Dutchy muttered from the floor, then made himself comfortable staring up at the ceiling. Specs laughed and leaned over to over him a hand up and instead got yanked off, and landed bodily on top of his boyfriend.

"Uh, hi there," Specs said.

Dutchy raised an eyebrow. "Comfy?" he asked wryly.

"Of course." Specs kissed him quickly then scrambled to his feet and got back on the bed, and Dutchy followed suit. Then they seemed to remember there was someone else in the room, and saw Bumlets had taken up a renewed interest in the television. Specs shrugged a little and he and Dutchy went back to watching, smiling, holding hands.

*

Sarah hadn't thought anyone would stoop that low. She knew what had happened the moment she walked into the bunk and inhaled; the fishy scent was rather hard to miss. She wrinkled her nose, took a deep breath and held it as she made her way over to her bunk and Well, there was no fish in it, but there were a few conspicuous wet spots.

She gasped for breath and almost puked from the smell. It was truly amazing, Hotshot, Smurf and Swinger all had to share living quarters with her. They'd have to smell it, too. It was hurting themselves at least as badly as her.

Making a face and trying to breath as little as possible, she stripped her bed and went to get her spare sheets, hoping that nothing had managed to sink into the mattress itself, and as she did so noticed that the scent actually got worse as she got closer to the set of drawers she'd claimed as her own, and nervously she pulled the top one open. Nothing. She moved on to the second one and still found nothing out of the ordinary, and then to the third.

She didn't scream when she saw the five fish, slimy and with eyes either totally blank and bulging out, or missing entirely from having been on the beach for too long. They were laid carefully across all of her shirts, so carefully that not a single shirt was left clean.

Calmly, Sarah shut the drawer and walked back out of the bunk.

She stopped on the porch where she could inhale again, and she took a deep breath.

Then she screamed at the top of her lungs.

*

The club was eighteen and over, which was kind of exciting for Bumlets, who'd just turned eighteen the past month. He'd never been clubbing before, though this didn't count as clubbing so much as going to a club, and hanging out. Okay, hanging out with guys he didn't really know so well, but still. It felt remarkably normal to him, like the kind of thing a regular guy did on his summer vacation.

Dutchy revealed himself to be the oldest member of the group by charming a bartender into letting him have a drink without checking his ID, which was good, as he was still a few months underage. Specs probably could have gotten away with something similar, but didn't try; after all, he was driving home, and it was less that he was worried about himself and the people he was driving, and more that he worried too much about his car. Dutchy made a point of explaining that to Bumlets, who really wasn't terribly surprised.

(Specs's revenge was to point out that Dutchy got the homemade equivalent of a sorority girl drink, which did seem to annoy him. They bickered about it for a few minutes, and Bumlets just assumed this was one of their strange, couple-y things and ignored them.)

There was no smoking in the bar, though there were ashtrays left over from the days when public smoking was allowed in the state. Enough of the ashtrays had cigarette butts in them that it was probably safe to assume that most people ignored the no smoking laws, though really, the air in the bar did seem fairly breathable.

The lighting was dim, the music was loud, and conversation was difficult. "There should be a band on in a few minutes," Specs yelled over the din, checking his watch. "Just something local."

Bumlets shrugged a little, and glanced over at the stage. It was tiny, and barely rose above the regular floor. He doubted a band would actually have enough room to set up on it, and considering that there _was_ a band setting up on it, he could see he wasn't wrong by much. Everything looked cramped and crowded together, the people who were setting things up definitely looked less than pleased. But somehow it got done, and there was a very quick soundcheck.

"Okay setup," Dutchy mused, then, _"Nice _guitar." He thwacked Specs's arm. "I want one for my birthday."

"Ha. No," Specs said.

"Please?"

"Sure, if you'll _pay_ for it."

Dutchy shrugged, as the band made their way on stage. It was a four piece set up, with a drummer crammed at the back of the stage (which was practically also the front of the stage) and a guitarist and bassist; Bumlets was surprised by how _young_ they looked. He'd expected people who at least looked old enough to have been in college, but only the bassist looked possibly old enough to be a college graduate, and that was just because he had bad facial hair. The guitarist had thick glasses and was clearly trying for (but not quite pulling off) an Elvis Costello look; the drummer had a giant mess of curls and was wearing a sparkly t-shirt that declared him a princess.

Then the singer stepped out on stage.

Bumlets gaped, and Specs noticed him gaping and started laughing. Unlike her bandmates, the singer was female; she was wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt with silver sparkles, and ripped jeans, and had short hair, dyed purple. It wasn't that she was beautiful; she was simply _noticeable._ Bumlets had met beautiful girls before, most dancers, after all, fit some standard of beauty. She didn't look like they did, though. She just looked Unique.

A few moments later they started the first song. It was somewhere between punk and rock; Dutchy muttered something about punk bands just not having the talent to play _real_ rock. Then Specs swatted his shoulder and called him a pretentious music snob, and Dutchy nodded and finished his drink. The music was Okay. Not great. And the singer's voice, similarly, was okay and not great.

As the set continued, and during the course of it Bumlets found out that her name was Gabby (she introduced the rest of the band, too, but that didn't register as well) and that the band was called Fiendish, and that they had a CD for sale. It was their first CD, apparently. ("Duh," Specs muttered. "They're what, twelve years old? How can they even play in an eighteen and over club?")

But the three of them enjoyed their set; so did everyone else. A few minutes after they packed up and the next act started setting up, Specs declared he couldn't take the smoke anymore ("What smoke? You're an asthmatic wuss." "Shut _up,_ Dutchy.") and on the way out to the car, there was the band, moving their equipment into a van.

Bumlets glanced at Gabby and sighed a little, and Specs shoved him. "Go talk to her."

"What?"

"Go talk to her."

"No!"

"Wuss," Dutchy accused.

"I am _not."_

"So go talk to her."

"I can't. She's in a _band."_

"Dude, so's Dutchy," Specs pointed out. "Bands like it when people tell them they're good." And he gave Bumlets a not so subtle push, and Bumlets froze. Because the band was looking at him. Well, at _them,_ and after a strange pause, Dutchy called, "Hey, you guys were pretty good."

"Gee, that's encouraging," Gabby noted.

Dutchy shrugged a little. "My friend thinks you're hot," he said. "I'm just making conversation. He's shy."

_"Dutchy!"_

"Well, you do."

"Shut _up!"_

She looked amused, then thoughtful. "Have I seen you somewhere before?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Huh. Okay, then I'm hallucinating." She laughed. "We rockstars use drugs and all, you know."

"Uh"

There was a pause, and she waved him over to them, and Specs shoved him again, and awkwardly he approached the van. She dug around inside for a moment, then found a CD and handed it to him. "Here. Pictures of me." She winked. "Come see us again."

"I will. I'll try to," he said quickly.

"What's your name?" she asked, as the bassist shoved past him a little to put away some equipment.

"Alec."

"Alec. All right, well Nice to meet you." She shrugged.

He blushed, and smiled, and finally managed, "Yeah, you too" And then retreated. "I can not _believe you did that!"_ he yelled at Dutchy and Specs as soon as they were safely in the station wagon.

"You got a free CD out of the deal," Dutchy said philosophically.

"You _made me go talk to her!"_

"Well, yeah."

"You told her I think she's hot!"

"You do, don't you?"

"Yes, but"

"Well, then there you go."

Specs sighed, and Bumlets looked a little pained. Specs glanced back over his shoulder before pulling out of the parking space. "Dutchy isn't very subtle," he said finally. "And has no sense of shame."

"I noticed that."

"You love it, Rich."

_"I_ do. Other people don't, dumbass."

"Whatever. Besides." Dutchy turned around in his seat and grinned. "She was totally flirting with you. If you hadn't frozen like that, she'd _totally_ have hit on you. You didn't even get the CD signed. So really, _I'm_ not the dumbass."

"Dutchy, stop being mean to him."

"Yes, _Mother."_

"Mother?" Specs laughed. "If you're confusing me with your mother, that's a whole psychological can of worms that I'm really not okay with opening." Specs grinned, and Dutchy chuckled and turned on the radio, and Bumlets just had no idea what to think.

Dutchy and Specs were nice, and pretty cool, he supposed.

They were also very _weird._

*

Chauncey looked at the drawer and grimaced, started to sigh, then thought better of sighing because it stunk. She lead the way back out of the bunk and shook her head a little. _"Very_ immature; do you know who did this?"

"Yes," Sarah answered immediately. "It was Smurf and Hotshot."

"Did you _see_ them?"

"No, but I know it was them because"

"Is there any actual proof?"

"Well, no, but"

"Sarah, then I'm afraid there's not much I can do. We'll air out the bunk and send your shirts to the laundry early, of course, and I'll take care of the fish, and _warn_ everyone _very_ firmly, but without proof I can't actually punish anyone."

"But I _know_ it was them!" Sarah yelled. "I know it, and my stuff is _ruined_ and the bunk _reeks_ and it's not fair!"

"Sometimes life isn't fair." Chauncey shrugged. "We all have to follow the rules; the rule breakers, if caught, will be punished by the rules. But I can't just take your word on it; how would _that_ be fair?"

"It would be fair because they're guilty!"

Chauncey shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's the end of it. I'll make sure _everyone_ knows this is unacceptable behavior, and I'll keep my eye on people who you _suspect_ are responsible."

"But I'm _right."_

"Sarah." Chauncey used her 'end of discussion' tone; by the second week of camp, everyone knew what that meant. Sarah glared a little, muttered, "Fine," and stomped back out of the cabin and towards the dining hall, which seemed to be the center of camp life.

*

"Yeah; he's real cut rate."

"He's what?" Smurf asked absently, as she glared across the dining hall at Blink, and fiddling with the bucket cap she could be seen wearing almost all day, everyday.

"Cut rate."

"That's a bad thing, right?"

Swinger rolled her eyes and nodded.

_"Why_ can't you speak English like a normal person?" Hotshot demanded irritably, watching out the window.

"Ain't my fault you can't dig my jive."

"I almost followed that one," Smurf said.

"You'd think we'd get them all by now."

Swinger suddenly followed Hotshot's gaze out the window. "Focus." She gestured a little.

"Focus on what?"

"The battle."

_"What?"_

"Focus; here comes the batt"

"Sarah," Hotshot interrupted, before Swinger and Smurf could just start repeating 'focus, here's the battle' 'what?' 'focus' over and over again, because that was how all of their conversations went.

"Oh." Smurf threw Blink one last nasty glare, which he returned, and waited for Sarah to walk in. She also thwacked Swinger's shoulder and demanded, "Why couldn't you just _say_ it's Sarah coming?"

"Be kopasetic," Swinger mumbled to the other two, as Sarah slammed the screen door open and glared at them.

"What?" Smurf demanded.

"She means be calm," Hotshot hissed.

"Why can't she just _say_ so?"

"I _did_ beef it. In jive."

"Okay, I swear to God you're making stuff up now."

"It's bible, bree."

"Hotshot, make her stop that."

"No one's been able to make her stop all summer, just deal with it," Hotshot snapped.

Sarah walked over to them, though stomped was a better word. "_Real_ funny, you three," she hissed.

"What was?" Smurf asked innocently.

"Dead. Fish."

"Dead fish?" Hotshot faked confusion. "Well, _you_ certainly smell like something died, but I assumed that's because you never shower."

"What did you say?" Sarah snarled.

"You heard me."

_"You'd_ know a lot about not showering."

"Real slick comeback." Smurf tucked one of the blue streaks of her hair behind her ears, fidgeted with her hat some more, and smirked.

"Well, gee, Smurf. Even if I don't shower, at least I don't have to dye my hair neon to make boys pay attention to me."

"You're coming up on the wrong riff there, battle."

Sarah ignored Swinger, because she couldn't think of a comeback; in all fairness, that was more because she had no idea what had just been said than anything else. "All I'm saying is watch your back," Sarah finally snapped. "I'm _not_ putting up with this."

She threw a quick look around the room, and discovered Blink was walking towards them.

"Hey; I hear someone mocking Smurf and her stupid hair. That's usually my job." He grinned.

"Have fun," Sarah muttered.

"I will."

Smurf narrowed her eyes, but got only an innocent smile in return.

"What do _you_ want, pirate boy?" she snapped.

"Pirate boy? I'm hurt. Psychotic midget." And with that, he reached forward, snatched the hat off her head, and held it up over his own. Which was fairly effective, considering he was nearly a full foot taller than she was. Sarah started laughing, and so did he, though he kept his laughter mostly under control; and now everyone in the whole dining hall was staring at them.

"Give it _back!"_

"Make me."

"I _will."_

Smurf proceeded to stomp on his foot with all of her weight, and he grimaced but that passed quickly. "Barely felt it, tiny," he declared, then shot her one last look and took off out of the dining hall, hat still in hand. She took off after him, and the door slammed behind them, and everyone kind of stared after the two of them quietly.

Finally, Sarah turned her attention back to Hotshot. "I'm going to get even."

"I'm terrified."

"You _will_ be." She started to stride off, glad to have the last word for once, but her dramatic exit was ruined by the guffaws from outside.

_"Hey_ that's fighting _dirty!"_

"You want _dirty?! _I'll _give you dirty!"_

_"HEY!"_

And then there was incoherent yelling and a few dull thuds, and a minute later, Smurf walked back in, clenching her hat (now totally mud encrusted) in one hand. She stomped past Sarah without acknowledgement, back to where she'd been standing with Hotshot and Swinger.

Blink came back in after another brief pause. His entire front was as coated in mud as Smurf's hat had been.

No one asked what had happened. No one really wanted to know, but he _did_ walk up to Sarah, tap her on the shoulder and gesture out towards the porch. She followed hesitantly.

"She's going _down,"_ Blink muttered as he attempted to wipe some mud off, which didn't work very well.

"And Hotshot."

"Hotshot, whatever; Smurf has to _die."_

"I don't care about Smurf as much as Hotshot."

"Okay." Blink paused in his attempt to scrape the dirt off his clothing. "So we get them both. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"You got any plans?"

"Not Yet, no," she said hesitantly.

"Don't worry." Blink smirked. _"I_ do."


	14. Here's To Romance

Sarah finished breakfast as usual and was on her way back out of the dining hall when Blink tapped her shoulder. She jumped a little, since her bunkmates had already managed to get her paranoid, but relaxed a little when she saw who it was.

"Ideas?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Let's go talk. You got any problems with breaking into the kitchen tonight?"

"Kitchen?" she repeated.

_"Trust_ me. Ditch the evening activity tonight, meet me on the back porch of the dining hall and I'll explain. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, finding the whole thing vaguely weird, but at the same time she was fairly excited. She had yet to get back at Smurf or Hotshot, and was more than eager to do so, and Shakes had told her that Blink wasn't too bad with pranks. If nothing else, he'd seen a lot of them in action and had a list of them saved up; that was what came from sharing a bunk with Jack for the last three years.

Shakes caught up with her as she started walking again. "So, you and Blink," she mused.

"What?"

"You two have been talking an awful lot." Shakes shrugged.

"Yeah, he's gonna help me get back at _What?"_ she demanded, as Shakes started giggling.

"Nothing," Shakes answered in a sing-song voice. "He's a cutie."

"He's what?"

"He's _cute."_

"He is?" Sarah repeated. She hadn't even thought of that, which was a little unusual for her. At school, that was the first thing she noticed But at camp, everyone looked like, well, like they were at camp. Finding someone whose hair wasn't messed up from the wind or who wasn't covered in mud was hard, and she hadn't bothered to look past all of that.

"Sure, if you like blondes, I guess," she finally agreed.

"You don't like blondes?"

Sarah shrugged a little, then lowered her voice and hissed, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

"I mean, a few people already know but" She giggled nervously. "It's definitely not Blink I've got a crush on."

"Who?" Shakes asked quietly, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

"Jack," Sarah finally said dreamily, and smiled a little. "I'll bet he's even cute with the chicken pox."

"You're _weird."_

*

The day passed far more slowly than Sarah would have liked. Riding was boring without Jack, who wasn't even _her_ instructor. He was just pretty to look at. She had her swimming hour with Artemis instead of Specs because he was still on his day off; she played tennis and waited and waited. The day just dragged.

The evening activity was an all camp game of kickball, which meant that it was loud enough and chaotic enough that slipping away wasn't much of a problem. So, at last, she found herself sitting on the back porch with Blink. "No one's in the kitchen; c'mon," he said and grabbed her arm, practically dragging her inside.

The kitchen was never locked before the seniors' night time snack, so getting in was even less of a problem then usual. Sarah watched in confusion as Blink began to rummage through cupboards, until, satisfied, he set out a few ingredients on the counter.

"Uh?" Sarah asked, skeptically looking at the box of powdered milk and the packet of red bugjuice mix. "Am I supposed to cook for them or what?"

"Nah. See," he was smirking and clearly too proud of himself, "what you do is, take the milk and when no one else is in the cabin, put it under Hotshot's sheet, remake the bed No one notices anything."

"Including Hotshot."

"Yeah, _but,_ at night you get hot, right? You sweat. Which then mixes with the milk through the sheet, there's some chemistry thing about that or something and anyway. She smells like spoiled milk for a few days. Because it gets in your pores and it's freaking _impossible_ to get out."

Sarah couldn't help but be skeptical. "Really?"

"Swear to God. Jack did it to Race a few years ago; he _stunk."_

She shrugged. "Okay"

"Just don't get caught and it'll _rock._ Serious."

"I'll do it."

"Great. Okay; the bugjuice If you want to be_ really _mean you empty it into someone's dirty laundry; everything comes back stained red. But you can get in major trouble for that since it destroys everything."

"So then what good is it?"

"Same basic thing, but it actually needs to be _in_ the sheets. So I guess Whoever is less likely to notice it. But it doesn't smell. It stains."

"Uh Okay, sure."

"Nothing hard, right? But lots of fun."

She glanced down at the items on the counter, then slowly picked them up and smiled. "Thanks, Blink. You've got no idea how much this means to me."

"Sure I do. I've wanted to do some of this stuff to Smurf for _years_ but can't get into the girls' bunk So, partners in crime?" He offered his hand.

"Yeah. Partners." She shook his hand firmly. Though oddly, Blink hadn't struck her as the sort of guy who was likely to be the brains of any operation, criminal or otherwise. But if what he was claiming worked, their partnership was _definitely_ going to be worth it.

*

The days slipped into one another until David was no longer sure how long he'd been in the infirmary, sharing a room with Jack and doing his best not to scratch the sores on his skin. It had been long enough that he'd finished the entire collection of _Hardy Boys_ books and was more than halfway through the _Baby Sitter's Club_ books as well. Jack had finished _Dune_ and was keeping himself content with the little kid's magazines Triage stocked the place with.

It was amazing how engaging "what's wrong with this picture?" could be when a person was too sick to move.

But eventually it hit the point when the sores were starting to scab over, which Triage declared to be a great signit meant that they were past the worst of it, and it would probably only be another three or four days before they could get back to life as usual.

David had only just gotten used to life as usual at camp, and wasn't sure he'd be able to go back to it so easily. But Jack seemed pretty thrilled by the prospect.

Jack

David glanced over at Jack, who had fallen asleep on a copy of _Highlights_, his head resting on his arm instead of the pillow. And David smiled just a little bit. It was amazing, but they'd been in the infirmary together for four days? He wasn't sure. Awhile, anyway. And now he felt like he knew Jack better than he knew anyone else; it seemed impossible that a mere two weeks ago, he'd never met the guy before.

He knew all of Jack's moods, from the happy go lucky charmer to the depressed, withdrawn teenager. He knew what the awkward pauses in conversations meant, either Jack was tripping over his words (which happened when he was excited about what he was discussing) or he was trying to make a serious point and needed to collect his thoughts. Or sometimes, because he was thinking about home and just didn't _want_ to talk. That was usually the withdrawn mood.

David hated seeing that, but it really didn't happen very often. Thankfully.

Then there was that _other_ kind of pause in the conversation. The one David hadn't figured out yet. They'd be goofing around or talking or just generally getting along, and suddenly Jack would be quiet for a few seconds and look kind of nervous, and then he'd look over at David, and smile, and go on with whatever he was saying. It was kind of unnerving, the way he always smiled after those pauses.

David wondered what they meant. He wondered why he found them so fascinating.

It was Jack who eventually realized the date when Triage brought the dinner one evening. It was a little less cooked. Than usual. In that it was slices of tomato, cheese, grilled chicken and a bun, none of which were actually put together to form a coherent sandwich. There was bugjuice to drink and cupcakes with white frosting and red and blue sprinkles for desert.

"Oh. Cookout," Jack noted.

"Uhhh. What?"

"See, normally you'd get to choose your own stuff from a buffet type thing," Jack clarified. "But since we're stuck up _here"_

"Gotcha." David began to assemble his sandwich.

"Cupcakes" Jack mused, then, "Wow, it's the Fourth of July _already."_

"What?"

"Patriotic cupcakes. They do that every year on the fourth." Jack sighed and began to put his own sandwich together. "I can't believe we're gonna miss everything. This bites."

"Miss what?" David asked with his mouth full.

Jack looked amused. "Swallow, doofus." He grinned, and gave David that _look,_ then continued talking. "Every year, there's a guy down the lake who does fireworks and you can see them from well, everywhere. And then at night there's a big bonfire on the boat beach and everyone roasts marshmellows and sings campfires songs."

"Sounds fun."

"It sounds lame, but it is really fun The last few years they've conned Dutchy into playing guitar. He and Specs sing together, it's ridiculous. They spend hours working out harmonies for old folk songs I guess But they sound really good."

David nodded, engrossed with his sandwich, or at least, with trying not to taste it. He wasn't sure quite what had been done to the poor chicken, but he'd never tasted anything like it before, and hoped never to again.

But Jack seemed to have gone off into his personal dream world.

"You know, those two guys They're so lucky. They don't even know how lucky they are."

David gave up on the cheese he was attempting to chew and just swallowed, then gagged and washed it down with juice, which really didn't help much. He made a face and Jack laughed a little. Finally he managed to choke out, "What about them is so lucky?"

"Each other." Jack picked at the rather sickly looking tomato for a second before squishing the top of his roll on to it. "They've been together for years. You didn't know?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Well Yeah, not everyone does."

"Right. Can't say I hadn't wondered about Specs"

Jack laughed. "Yeah, _everyone_ wonders about Specs. It's Dutchy that surprises most people."

"I don't know Dutchy"

"You should go sailing." Jack looked at him contemplatively for a second, then smiled again. "You're too pale; you should do more outside instead of hiding in the theater."

"You sound like my mother."

"Well, she's probably right. What's the point of going to camp if you refuse to do camp things?"

"Going to camp wasn't my idea," David reminded him, having already explained the situation that had landed him at camp several days before.

"Yeah, yeah, but still Hey, when we're out of here, you could come to riding."

"Ha. No."

"Aw, c'mon."

"No. I don't do the horse thing."

"Scared?"

"No. Just full of hate."

"Scared," Jack decided.

"I'm really _not._ I just _don't like horses!"_

"Okaaaaay." Jack took a tentative bite of his sandwich, and choked it down. "Could be worse" he mused.

"How?"

"Could have been chicken."

David almost spat out his mouthful. "I thought it _was!"_

Jack cracked up. "Kidding! Well I think Kinda hard to say sometimes."

"I miss real food."

"My next day off, I'll smuggle some in for you," Jack promised.

"You _rule."_

"If you come to riding. Come on; I'm a counselor for beginners, so how bad could it be?"

"So much worse than you could possibly imagine."

Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself, then"

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and finally Jack just mumbled, "So lucky" to himself again.

"You really think so?" David asked.

"You know what I'd give to have that kind of relationship?" Jack answered. "Seriously There's only one other gay guy at my school and he's a real jerk; everyone hates him. But his dad's on the school board so no one says anything."

"Oh."

"Yeah God, I've never How sad is it that the only kiss I've ever had was that jerk in ninth grade?"

"Hey; I've _never_ kissed anyone," David countered. "Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Guess not."

"Or maybe I'm just a loser."

"You're _not_ a loser," Jack said emphatically.

"Tell that to my parents."

"Okay." Jack grinned. "On parents' weekend. I will."

"Yeah, good luck." David gave up on the sandwich and tried the cupcake which was, surprisingly, not bad. Well, not bad by camp food standards. He gave Jack a contemplative look, and finally commented, "You know, you're gonna meet someone someday, Jack. You're too You're too good not to. So don't worry."

Jack smiled. "And I bet someday soon, some Some girl's gonna get her first kiss from you, Dave."

"Here's to romance, then." David held up his cup. "Happy Fourth of July."

"Happy Fourth," Jack echoed, clinked his plastic cup and attempted to clink with David's though clinking was hard with soft plastic, and they both finished off their juice.

_Here's to romance Where did _that_ come from?_ David wondered as he turned back to his book. But he knew without looking that Jack was watching him again.

Watching him, and smiling.

*

Sarah didn't have an opportunity to act with the stolen milk and juice mix until the fourth. Everyone else was out at the bonfire and she claimed she was running back to get a sweater, carefully followed Blink's directions, remade the bed, grabbed her sweater and was back almost before people wondered where she'd gone. Of course, her heart was beating a little too hard and she was sure someone would realize she was up to _something,_ but Chancey didn't even give her a second glance.

Blink did, though. He cocked his head and gave her a questioning look, and she nodded a little. He grinned and mouthed, "Way to go," and that was that. So she settled in next to Shakes to make a smore and listen to Specs and Dutchy, who were currently singing an old Simon &amp; Garfunkel song which she only knew because her mom listened to that sort of thing a lot.

But she could hardly wait for the next morning.


	15. It Only Takes A Moment

The first bell rang, but Sarah was already awake. She didn't sit up too quickly, not wanting to look suspicious, just rolled over and watched. But she didn't even need to watch to tell her that she'd succeeded at least in part, because there was a distinct odor wafting through the cabin.

Spoiled milk.

She pulled the blanket up over her mouth so no one would see her grin, as Hotshot got out of bed and sniffed suspiciously, then began to examine her bunk. "What the hell is going on?!" she demanded.

Sarah, of course, didn't answer. But she did keep watching. Everyone else was waking up now, and noticing the smell, and Hotshot roused Smurf. Waking up Smurf was never an easy task, and she was always the last one out of bed, but finally she did roll over and sit up.

Half of her face was bright red.

Sarah bit her lip to keep from cracking up, took a breath to try and compose herself and slipped out of bed.

Chauncey glared around the cabin dangerously.

"I want to know who's responsible," she declared. _"If_ the culprit will step forward, the consequences will be lightened. But I will _not_ tolerate this kind of behavior in this bunk, ladies. Who ever is responsible has until noon to come to me."

_Yeah,_ Sarah thought, _like that's going to happen._

Chauncey strode off to the shower; Hotshot stomped over to Sarah and Shakes's bunk. "You're going to _pay_ for this."

"We'll see."

Sarah looked at Shakes. Shakes grinned, and Sarah smirked. Hotshot just _glared._

"Just you _wait."_

And she went off to claim the second shower stall, to try and get rid of the stench.

On the other hand, Smurf was fairly unaffected: there was no mirror in the main part of the cabin, only in the bathroom; she hadn't yet seen her skin. Sarah wished there was some way to keep her from going to brush her teeth and seeing in the mirror, because walking into the dining hall and not knowing _why_ everyone was laughing at her would make it even better.

But even so, it was going to be great.

Sarah got dressed and ready for the day feeling much more cheerful than she had since arriving at camp.

They tromped down to the dining hall and arrived as the third bell was ringing. Sarah watched as Smurf stomped past Blink, who saw her and started cracking up. She turned around and glared.

"Not _one_ word," she hissed at him.

He caught his breath enough to answer, "I didn't say anything! But now that you mention it, your face kinda clashes with your hair."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going to lower myself to your level, Blink. You know why?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It's only two weeks until the first race. And you're going _down."_ She tossed her blue and black hair over her shoulder and flounced off to her own table, leaving Blink still snickering behind her.

He looked over, caught Sarah's eye, and grinned. She smirked back.

*

No one stepped forward to fess up to Sarah's crime, of course. But Chauncey wasn't going to let it go and by lunch had caught up to Sarah in the bunk. "Look, I know you've been very frustrated, but you have to understand that such behavior is _not_ acceptable"

"It wasn't me," Sarah answered.

"Sarah"

"Do you have any proof?"

"No." She crossed her arms. "I have no proof so I won't be punishing you. But I will be paying _very _close attention to your actions. Do you understand that?"

"Of course."

"Good. Keep it in mind."

Sarah flounced off to change for swimming, grabbed her deodorant and paused to apply it, then felt a shooting pain. She stared at the tube for a second and saw a small metal point among the white, and pulled it out to reveal a straightened paper clip.

It had hurt, but not much. She tossed the paperclip in the trash and didn't think of it again. If that was the best Hotshot and Smurf could come back with, she had no problems.

*

"You up for round two?" Blink asked cheerfully at the evening snack.

"Round two?"

"You don't think they're just gonna let it go, do you?"

"Well, no, but"

"You've gotta be ready to come back again."

"Oh, _great."_

"Don't worry. I got it covered."

"How long is this going to go on for?" Sarah asked.

"Until someone gives up. You're not gonna give up on me, are you?"

She shrugged. "I don't want to get in trouble or anything."

"Don't worry. No one gets in trouble for prank wars."

"Chauncey seemed pretty serious."

"She's always serious, but she won't _do_ anything. There's an _official_ prank week later in the summer, so it's not like anyone cares."

She sighed. "Fine. So what's next?"

"IceyHot."

"What?"

"IceyHot cream poured into a shampoo bottle."

"Okay, but I don't _have_ any IceyHot lotion."

"Got it covered. Triage keeps lots of it stocked up in the infirmary."

"If it's in the infirmary, how are _we_ supposed to get it?"

"Leave that to me." He grinned. "I'll let you know what's going on tomorrow. _Hey, Mush!"_ And he jogged off to catch up with Mush, who was about to run away for the evening, as his stalkers were walking in the door.

Sarah kind of stared after him. It was nice to have help and all, but Blink was a really strange guy.

*

"You owe me," Mush commented on their way off to morning activities.

"I know."

"I mean it. I'm exploiting my talent for you."

"Think of it as a test. If you're good enough to pull it off, you're just plain amazing."

"And if I mess up?"

"Well, sucks to be you." Blink shrugged.

"Oh, you _so_ owe me. You got a thing for Sarah or is this just to piss off Smurf?"

Blink didn't answer.

"Ooooh, Bliny's got a _cru-ush."_

"Shut _up."_

"Don't worry about it. She's cute."

"Like you'd know."

"What?"

"Like you even like girls."

"Blink, I should point out again that _I_ am doing _you_ a favor, and that you shouldn't joke when you know full well I'm straight."

"Right." Blink nodded. "Sorry. Thanks for the favor, pal."

"Well, you owe me."

Their paths diverged then, Mush to go to the theater and Blink to head to sailing. Blink pounded his back gently and they walked off.

Mush sighed and wondered how he'd gotten talked into this. Okay, so Blink was his best friend at camp, but still. This was a stupid idea. But he'd agreed to it because He thought about that for a second. He really had no reason. He hadn't ever really talked to Sarah and had no feelings about her one way or the other; he had always gotten along with Hotshot all right, and Smurf Okay, he was good friends with Blink which meant that Smurf was perpetually suspicious of him, but he really had nothing against her and no urge to get involved with the Feud.

And yet here he was, planning to help with Blink's scheme.

Medda greeted him with a hug and tickle from the feathered boa she'd found back stage and made a habit of wearing. He gave her a semi-grin and sneezed, then wandered over to go wait for warm ups to begin as more people trickled in, Trixie among them, who immediately grabbed his arm and refused to let go.

He shot Maverick a pained look as he joined them in the circle to warm up. Maverick grinned; he'd actually been through that himself. Something about boys and theater "Okay campers, everyone on your feet. Come on, let's go"

Grudgingly, the group stood. Mush stepped away from Trixie and maneuvered himself so that Grammar was standing between the two of them, thankfully. He liked Grammar; she was intelligent, and, more importantly, didn't stalk him.

"Okay, make your faces really _big_ now really _small_"

Same warm ups every day. Not that he was complaining. After all, that was how he knew he'd be able to put Blink's idiotic plan into effect.

"Loosen your necks; gentle now, okay, moving down stretch your _arms"_

Yeah, Maverick could have lead the morning warm up in his sleep. But then, Mush could have done it in his sleep. He stretched his arms.

"deep breath, turn as far as you can. Okay, let the breath out and turn _farther"_

He exhaled, turned, came back to center, and did it in the other direction, and waited.

"And now your legs; stretch your"

"OW! Owwww, oh, God"

"Mush?"

Okay. Right. He was overacting. But still, he was selling it. Mush stopped flailing and hopping on one foot, but kept grimacing in pain. Or rather, 'pain.' Because he'd never hurt himself stretching in his entire life, and really couldn't even imagine _how_ he'd hurt himself stretching. But that didn't really matter too much, because everyone was looking on in concern.

Especially Trixie. Which hadn't been part of the plan. But he ignored her and threw a pained look at Maverick. "I must've over done it or something, I think I pulled a muscle"

"Can you stretch it out?"

Mush grimaced and attempted to stretch his leg again, yelped in pain and shook his head quickly.

Maverick sighed. "You want to walk it out?"

Mush took a step, limped, and didn't say anything but winced in agony every time he put weight on his leg.

"Okay, uh Right. Why don't you go up to the infirmary and ice it, then?"

Mush nodded and whimpered a little as he started off towards the door of the theater, impressed with himself for selling it.

"Trixie, you go with him."

And Trixie scampered up next to him and threw an arm around his shoulder for supportallegedlyand he wondered if maybe he hadn't sold the performance as well as he'd hoped. But it was too late for that now, and he limped with Trixie out of the theater and up the dirt path to the infirmary.

She chattered inanely and kind of annoyingly as they walked, and he figured that even if his leg didn't hurt, he'd have a legitimate complaint of a headache the way this was going. She was starting to irritate him Okay, she'd _started_ to irritate with twenty-four hours of camp beginning, but he had a fairly high tolerance for annoying people, as he also had four siblings and three of them were younger. And younger siblings were sort of annoying by default. But between Trixie and Smartass, he was really having trouble enjoying the summer as much as he should have.

He wondered if all theater boys had that problem, and if so, wondered if that was why there was an unusually high percentage of gay men in the theater. The girls drove them away from the female gender forever.

Okay, that was probably not it, he figured as they finally approached the infirmary. He turned the drama back on, having settled for a mild limp to hurry the hike along, and actually let himself cling to Trixie (since she insisted on clinging to him _anyway)_ and began to groan with pain at every step again.

Triage had just returned from finishing her morning rounds of cabin inspections and gave him a serious look through her glasses. "What's the problem, Mush?"

_Girls,_ he thought, but answered, "My leggggggg, I think I pulled a muscle and it huuuuuuurts."

Hmmm. That was whinier than he'd wanted; he was hoping for pathetic and in pain. But it would have to do.

"Well. Have a seat then," she said, and gestured to one of the many chairs that littered the main infirmary room. "I was just about to put on a movie for the sick kids; I'll be back in a moment." She disappeared into her own room and produced a stack of rented, G-rated Disney movies, then went off down the hallway. Minutes later, sleepy campers with chicken pox still visible on their faces and limbs wandered into view, sat down, and she turned on the movie.

Jack and David were the last two to show up. Jack's hair was unbrushed and without the bandana to hold it back it was falling so far into his face that there was no way he could see through it. Which was sort of similar to David, who couldn't see because his eyes weren't actually open. He looked kind of like a zombie, stumbling through the hall.

"Hey!" Mush greeted them cheerfully.

"Mmphs. Imasleep lemmelone."

Jack managed a slight laugh at David and translated, "I think that means, 'hey, what's up?' but it's so hard to tell before he's had coffee."

"Shuduhhhh"

"Hey, Davey," Mush answered.

"Hey." It was the first coherent word he'd managed all morning.

Jack sat down near Mush and David sat down next to Jack. "So," Jack said, "what's up?"

"Pulled muscle." Mush made a face, and Trixie stood behind him and began to give him a back rub, which he really didn't want to and winced away from. She pouted at that, but he didn't see because he didn't care enough to turn around and look. Jack chuckled a little; like most of Mush's friends, he found the poor guy's girl problems hysterical.

"That sucks," Jack said, as Triage started the movie and shushed them. She unceremoniously handed Mush an ice pack and sent Trixie back to the theater, and the group lapsed into a quiet. Mush glanced over at Jack and David, wondering just how sick they were, but really they didn't look too bad anymore. Just a few scabbed over pox on Jack's face and arms; it was a lot harder to see David's face, because he'd promptly leaned over on Jack's shoulder and had fallen asleep again, and Jack's hair blocked the view.

Jack was very careful not to move and wake him.

Mush's leg went numb after about twenty minutes, and Triage asked him how he was doing. "Uhhh I think it's okay for now but I dunno, if I really hurt it it might be worse again later."

"You can come and ice it again, then," she answered.

"Yeah, okay." He ran a hand through his hair. "Just, if it's at night or something, y'know, it would be a stupid thing to wake you over."

"Mmm, that's true," Triage agreed. "Well, I'll tell you what; you remind me after lunch and I'll bring you a tube of IceyHot to use this evening if it's still bothering you. But really, if you're more careful when you stretch, it shouldn't be a problem."

"I'll be careful," he promised, and gave the icepack back to her, and stood. His leg was cold and wet and numb. He threw one last glance at Jack, who waved goodbye a little, and at David, who still hadn't shifted off of Jack's shoulder. He looked quite comfortable, really; and Jack had put an arm around him to sort of prop him up.

It looked very cozy. Mush supposed they'd bonded over being locked in the infirmary together, and started out. He didn't have to fake the limp this time; his leg was numb enough that walking was a little difficult.

But he'd have the IceyHot for Blink after lunch, so his mission was accomplished.

The things he did for his best friend

*

It was their last night in the infirmary. Triage had informed them cheerfully that, while a few scabs did remain, everyone was basically healthy again and could return to life as normal. _Finally._

On the one hand, Jack was thrilled; he was feeling better and more energetic and found lying around the nurse's cabin all day really, _really_ boring. Except for when David was talking to him, because he hung on David's every word; it was like Dave never said anything that wasn't fascinating and eloquent. Jack could listen to David talk for hours.

But David didn't talk much. He was feeling better too, but unlike Jack he relished the chance to sleep in and spend the day dozing off. Jack sighed.

Maybe David didn't talk that _much,_ but he'd miss the few conversations they had. He'd miss them a lot, but David was absolutely stuck on his 'no riding' policy, and there was no getting him to change that. Which meant that after they left the infirmary, they wouldn't be seeing much of each other anymore, and Jack couldn't help but be a little depressed about the fact.

But he had other things on his mind, too.

"Dave?" he asked, checking to see if his bunkmate had conked out for the night yet.

"Mmph?"

"I gotta plan."

"Uh Okay."

"To get back at Sneakers, 'cause he set me up."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I remember that."

"You wanna help me?"

David rolled over on his side and gave Jack a strange look through the dim light. "Uh"

"Don't worry, it's nothing malicious or anything, just Ya know, all in good fun. And you wouldn't get in trouble, I'm the counselor so I can take the blame if we get caught. Which we won't."

"Uh Why me? I mean, yeah, sure, I'll help but I'm not exactly Experienced at that sort of thing."

"I need your help 'cause I need someone in your bunk and Race is too obvious." Jack grinned.

"Okay, then Sure, I guess. What's the plan?"

So Jack told him.

*

Sarah was tired of waiting. She was tired of waiting and tired of being paranoid and just plain sick of everything. The only good news she had was that Jack was out of the infirmary, and back at riding and as gorgeous as ever; and at least he and David were still good friends so she'd be able to make David help her out on _that_ front. But the situation in her bunkand the situation with Blinkwas starting to just get out of hand.

The problem in the bunk was that Sarah _knew_ Hotshot and Smurf were planning something. It had been three days, and Hotshot still had the vague scent of spoiled milk, but there was no chance they wouldn't try to get revenge. And Sarah was ready for another round, but she couldn't do anything until _they_ did. And they weren't doing anything. Just smirking knowingly, and waiting.

It was evil. She was starting to be as paranoid as, well, Mush.

Actually, her situation was more comparable with Mush's than she wanted to think about. Because he had his stalkers, and she had Blink. And she appreciated his help with the prank war, she'd have no idea what to do without him. And the pranks he'd suggested had gone _brilliantly._

But he kept Talking to her. Not that she really minded casual conversations, but his awkward attempts at flirting were just kind of sad. She was used to flirting, that was part of who she was at home, but he seemed to never, ever have done it before. But he insisted on trying anyway. And it wasn't just in her imagination, because Shakes had noticed too, and they'd discussed it at great length.

She felt almost bad for Blink but had yet to come up with a way to tell him that no, it just wasn't going to happen. Especially not now that she had Jack to gaze at again.

What was weird, though, was that every time she went to gaze at Jack outside of riding, there was David, right there next to him. They'd be talking or laughing or if nothing else, just _together._ She wondered how that had happened.

David had never, ever been friends with the cool kids. But at camp, Jack was undeniably the center of cool; he'd been there for too long, he knew everyone, he could get away with things no other counselor _and_ no camper could. Everyone wanted to hang out with him; the little kids loved him, she was definitely not the only camper (or counselor, for that matter) who had a crush on him; and the administration doted on him.

It was kind of ridiculous.

But it was even _more_ ridiculous because for whatever reason, Jack had apparently mistaken David for someone who was also cool. That was irritating. It was the sort of thing that would never happen somewhere normal, like school. She hated the differences between camp and school. She'd never expected to _want_ summer break to end, so she could get back to classes, but she'd have given anything to be away from camp, and these people, and this social system that was the total opposite of everything normal.

Any place where David could be considered popular was not somewhere she wanted to spend time All she could do was console herself with the fact that, with two weeks of camp finished, she was a quarter of the way through the summer.

*

David stared at the clock. He'd been staring at the clock for hours, since lights out, as it was the only sure way not to fall asleep He had a much easier time readjusting to the camp schedule than he'd expected, thankfully, and had been out of the infirmary in time to audition for the third week's show. Which wasn't even really a show, just a collection of the songs from _Schoolhouse Rock_, with various solos and chorus numbers and some ridiculous dialogue to string them together.

It was almost one in the morning and he felt jittery and sleepy at the same time. Like if he took his eyes off the clock he'd fall asleep instantly, and leave Jack sitting out in the field waiting for him. It was Jack's night to patrol until one in the morning, and his plan called for David to meet him right after, with the ill gotten gain stolen from Sneakers's drawer after the laundry came in Monday morning.

In other words, all of Sneakers's pairs of boxer shorts except the one he had on. Jack had nabbed a bunch of safety pins off the clothesline behind the Higgins's house, there was a large flagpole up at the top of camp which could really be seen from anywhere on the camp property, and it was possibly the most classic prank in existence.

Twelve fifty-seven. Fifty-eight.

David sat up in his bed and yawned a little, tried to quietly slide down the ladder without injuring himself, stepping on Race in the bunk beneath him, or waking anyone up. It was a bit more difficult than he'd expected.

Twelve fifty nine. He pulled on the jeans he'd worn the day before, his sweat shirt, and sneakers.

One AM.

As quietly as possible, David crept out of the cabin. His heart was racing and he was afraid it might actually be beating so loudly it would wake up Sneakers. He'd never done anything like this before; he'd been _dragged_ along that first night of camp, but here he was, willingly sneaking out on his own to pull a prank he knew he could get in trouble for. And that was not something he had ever pictured himself doing before.

David had always known he was a bit of a goody two shoes, he'd just never cared. He didn't _like_ breaking rules, it made him feel guilty and nervous and he was always terrified of being caught. And even if he didn't get caught he always felt so bad about getting away with something he shouldn't have done that he would confess.

And yet here he was, out of his bunk long after curfew, stolen boxer shorts in a bag in one hand, trying to quietly follow the path up to the flagpole.

_Jack had better appreciate this,_ he thought as he walked.

*

Jack was leaning against the flagpole, watching the path for David, a cigarette dangling from his hand. He could feel the dew on the grass start to soak through his shoes, but he was used to that. They'd be dry by morning.

He checked his watch. It was five after. He wondered if David had fallen asleep or decided not to come, or

He took a drag on the cigarette and told himself to calm down. David didn't know the camp paths as well as he did, so even though the moon was just about full and provided plenty of light, he'd take longer than Jack would to get up to the flagpole. Nothing to worry about. David was a responsible, reliable guy.

He hoped.

And sure enough, a minute later David appeared on the path, silhouetted against the moonlight and its reflection in the lake. Jack bit his lip a little and wondered if this was a good idea after all Him, the guy he had a crush on, a full moon and starry sky with a gorgeous view

Right, well, he wasn't going to do anything stupid. Just get the prank all set up and send David back off to bed. No matter how much he wanted to do Well, to do something which would, without a doubt, be stupid.

David walked up to him and dropped the bag in the grass, glanced up at Jack, who grinned. "Smoke?" he offered, holding up the remainder of the cigarette.

"That's disgusting, Jack."

Jack shrugged. "Bad habit, but hard to kick." He dropped the cigarette and smothered the embers with his foot.

"You should really work on that."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Do you know how many people die of lung cancer every year? It's"

"Davey, come on," Jack interrupted. One the one hand, it was nice that David was so concerned about his health; on the other hand, there was no way for someone who smoked to _not_ know the health risks involved, and having them repeated over and over was just irritating.

"Sorry," David mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." Jack thumped his back. "Let's get this show on the road." He reached for the ropes on the flagpole and began to hit latches and pull hand over hand and David wasn't entirely sure how the whole thing worked, but Jack clearly knew and seemed capable of doing it himself. "Okay; hand me the first pair."

David felt vaguely weird about handling someone else's underwear, but at least he knew they were clean. He handed the first pair to Jack, who clipped it to the rope and raised it a little, then held his hand out for the next pair. And on it went, until the flag was back where it belonged on the top, with seven pairs of boxer shorts strung up beneath it.

Jack grinned and looked up to admire his handiwork. David chuckled a little and followed his gaze.

It was Well, majestic was the wrong word. 'Amusing,' was more accurate. But still, David felt kind of giddy and like he'd accomplished something he hadn't know he could do; Jack felt kind of giddy because of the smile on David's moonlight bathed face, the way the stars seemed to be reflected in his big blue eyes, and a whole lot of other nonsense which surprised Jack. He'd never thought of himself as poetic, but then, he'd never seen anyone with eyes quite as blue as David's before.

He looked down at David, and David was looking up at him. They were standing right next to each other, half-facing each other, so close they were very nearly touching. David was grinning. Jack grinned back and Sort of leaned down a little bit.

David's eyes widened for a second, but he didn't shy away.

There was a pause that seemed like an eternity, and Jack could swear he felt something crackling in the air between them. He'd felt giddy before, but this was different. The giddiness, the vaguely hyper, excited feeling, was still there; but at the same time he was absolutely calm. He just felt this _thing_ and he didn't know what it was, but it felt an awful lot like there was something about the moment, and who knew when a moment like this would happen again?

He had no idea how long he and David stood there, frozen. It felt like forever but he reasoned it couldn't have been more than a second. David was still staring up into his eyes, searching them like he was looking for an explanation; Jack gazed back down at David, hoping his expression was asking for permission.

He didn't shy away when Jack put a hand on his waist. And Jack figured that was as close to permission as he was likely to get, and the tension of the moment was _killing _him, and it was a stupid, stupid thing to do, but he couldn't help it. He leaned down just a little, tiny bit more, and right there under the not-quite-full moon and the underwear strewn flagpole, he kissed David. It wasn't much, just a quick, gentle peck on the lips, but it was definitely a kiss.

Suddenly, time started again and the moment was just _gone_.

David pulled away abruptly and Jack let his hand drop, then shoved his hands in his pockets. He stared down at the ground, up at the flagpole, over into the trees, _anywhere_ but at David; he was too afraid to look at David and see See a reaction, any reaction. Because he knew it wouldn't be the one he desperately wanted, if it had been David wouldn't have stepped away. And he couldn't bring himself to see David look at him with disgust, or fear, or whatever it was that David had to be feeling.

"I" David started to say, and stopped, the words catching in his throat. "I should go back now."

"Yeah," Jack mumbled. "Yeah, okay, uh Thanks for the help with ya know, the flagpole and all"

"Yeah."

Jack didn't look up until he heard David's footsteps retreating, and watched as David disappeared down the path back to his bunk.

That had been a very, very stupid thing to do.


	16. Ill Communication

David stared up at the ceiling, not sleeping. He couldn't believe he'd been so tired before he'd left to go help Jack; now he couldn't even close his eyes, let alone contemplate sleep. His mind was racing and his pulse certainly hadn't settled back down yet.

Jack had _kissed_ him.

Where the hell had that come from? If he hadn't been able to taste the cigarette on Jack's breath, he'd have suspected he imagined it, but it _had_ happened. Jack had actually done it. He just had no idea why.

He knew Jack was gay, it wasn't like _that_ was a total shock. And Jack being gay didn't bother him at all, there was no reason why it should. Jack was a great guy, so something like that shouldn't matter. Jack was funny and laid back and easy to talk to; in a lot of ways, he was one of the closest friends David could remember having.

But then Jack had kissed him.

Why had he done that? David tried to shut his eyes and clear his head, push thoughts of Jack out of it, but it failed utterly. There was no way he was going to sleep until he had managed to come to some sort of conclusion. But doing that was harder than it should have been

Jack kissed him, did that mean Jack _liked_ him? Or had it just been an impulse? He didn't think it was an impulse, not with the way Jack had looked at him or the way Jack's hand had felt against his side. It felt like there was something more to it than just an impulsive, meaningless gesture. But why would there have been?

The ceiling didn't offer any convenient answers, no matter how hard David stared at it.

So Jack had kissed him, and maybe Jack liked him. Which, he guessed, sort of explained the strange looks he was always getting from Jack. But there was no real explanation for _why_ Jack would possibly like him. He'd barely even understood that Jack thought of him as a close friend Jack was popular and funny and everyone liked him, and he really had his choice of friends. David had been surprised to find himself among them, let alone as a _good_ friend; he had been a loser for as long as he could remember. Even his parents thought so. His siblings certainly did. And really, _he_ always had thought so as well, it had just never really bothered him.

It made no sense that Jack would like him. It _had_ to have been a fluke, just an impulse because of how close together they were standing and the moonlight and all It had to be.

David sighed a tiny bit.

Why did the thought that it _was_ just an impulse suddenly hurt so badly?

For the first time the whole summer, David was awake before the first bell rang; he had never fallen asleep. He slid out of bed and actually managed to claim the first shower, which meant there would still be hot water for a change, and was just on his way out when he heard Sneakers start yelling. "Okay, what the hell happened to--_Racetrack, what is going on?"_

"What?" Race demanded, as David hurriedly got dressed and tried not to look up. He wasn't exactly feeling cheerful, mostly just confused, but he didn't want to give anything away. Snitch, perpetually hyper and already ready to go, bounded past him and out into the morning air, got about four feet, then started laughing hysterically and came back in.

"Someone's been pranked!" he announced. "Come lookit the flagpole!"

Sneakers glared at Racetrack.

Race just looked confused.

"I hate everyone," Sneakers declared.

"What?" Race demanded, and poked his head out to see the flagpole. "Oh. Hey. It wasn't me!"

"Uh huh."

"It wasn't!"

"Uh huh." Sneakers gave him a very irritated look and grabbed his towel to go shower, as the second bell rang.

David finished getting dressed quietly and slipped out of the cabin. He didn't really feel like talking to anyone. Instead, he hung out in front of the dining hall and watched as other people began to arrive. He saw as Jack walked up with his campers all bouncing around him, as ten year olds were known to do, and then Jack glanced around and saw him.

And looked away immediately.

David wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Did it mean Jack was embarrassed or felt bad or Or that it had been a mistake?

The third bell rang and David watched as Jack casually walked over to Sneakers, pounded his back in a brotherly manner, and declared, "God you last." Then walked off to go get his morning coffee.

Sneakers narrowed his eyes.

David slid into his seat and tried not to do anything to give away his role in the prank, though he felt like at any second someone was gong to spring up and accuse him. But nothing happened, and after breakfast a group went with Sneakers to go rescue his shorts, and he apparently had decided that Racetrack was Jack's accomplice, and no one even considered that it could be anyone else.

David felt kind of bad, because that included Race's mother, who looked like she was ready to strangle her son, despite his assurances that he was no way involved. Of course, since _Race_ knew he was innocent he also was the only one who was trying to guess who else Jack would have turned to, so when David was trying to sneak quietly back to the bunk without being noticed, Race cheerfully slung an arm around him.

"Didn't know ya had it in you," he commented.

"Had what in me?" David answered innocently.

"That." Race pointed at the flagpole, which was now being dealt with. "Not bad for your first prank."

"It, uh, wasn't me."

"Well, it wasn't me _either,_ and I'd say you're the second most likely suspect. Since you're Jack's new best friend and all." Race didn't seem to mind that he was taking the blame, though. "The look on Sneakers's face was great, didja see? He's pissed at Jack, can't _wait_ to see how he gets revenge."

"Yeah That'll be fun."

Race gave him a strange look. "You okay? You sound a little out of it."

David shrugged. "Still feeling a little under the weather, is all. Didn't sleep well last night, was kind of busy _you_ know."

"Right, right. Well, feel better."

"Yeah Yeah, I will."

*

Jack couldn't look at David. He spent the whole of breakfast not looking at David; he carefully threw up a cheerful façade and accepted compliments at the success of the prank. And didn't look at David.

As he headed out to go get ready for riding that day, Sneakers caught up with him. "Just you wait, Cowboy. Just you _wait."_

"Bring it." Jack smirked.

"I _will."_ Sneakers stomped off indignantly to go rescue his underwear, and Jack caught a glimpse of Race talking to David as he walked away.

A sudden, second fear began to form in the pit of his stomach. A fear beyond that of David hating him and never speaking to him again, which really was the only thing he'd been able to think of since David had walked off the night before. David might tell people.

Jack could lose his job.

There was a clause in every counselor's contract, about inappropriate relations with campers. And it didn't matter if the camper was less than a year younger than the counselor, campers were absolutely, one hundred percent off limits. And Jack, idiot that he was, had kissed David. Which definitely put him in the "go straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars" category.

Oh, _shit._

*

Lunch was no easier than breakfast had been. Jack was still absolutely not looking at David, and was starting to feel nervous and queasy. Like at any moment, Mrs. Higgins was going to walk up to him and proclaim that he was fired, and also, being sued for sexual harassment.

David was just feeling depressed, and he couldn't quite put his finger on why, and he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything, really; he wanted to curl up in his bed at home with a notebook and a cup of coffee and write until he fell asleep, with his annoying cat lying on his feet. The way he did every other summer break since about fifth grade. (His mother always scolded him in the morning for sleeping too late, and demanded to know why he had imprints from the notebook's spiral rings on his face.)

He wanted to be back to somewhere where he understood the rules, and didn't have to worry. He'd been perfectly happy as a loser with next to no friends or social life. He hadn't wanted to come to camp in the first place.

Even if it had been surprisingly fun.

He couldn't believe how messed up everything suddenly felt, because of one, stupid, little, probably meaningless kiss.

*

Racetrack was more observant than people gave him credit for. David was acting strangely, even for David; and Jack was distracted and nervous. He barely paid attention to the kids he was working with in riding, and usually he gave them his full attention (because with anything less, they tended to injure themselves.) But he clearly couldn't focus.

And then he watched Jack carefully at lunch, and discovered that was preoccupied with the space on the floor right underneath David. Not with gazing longingly the way he usually did, but staring straight at the ground.

That was a bit odd. Something was going on. Race turned his attention back to denying his involvement with Jack's mischief, and back to lunch, and made a note to talk to Jack about it later.

Sometimes, he wondered what on earth people would do without him.

*

It had taken a lot of time, and a lot of creativity. And there had been a lot of unintentional bug bites along the way. Hotshot finished washing her hands and glanced over at Smurf, who was doing the same.

"You know, we have to get Blink too. He was in on everything."

Hotshot rolled her eyes. "You just have issues. You should seek Blink-related therapy."

"He's _evil."_

"Yeah, yeah."

"He is." Smurf stuck out her tongue, dried off her hands, and wandered away. Hotshot followed suit, throwing one last look at their handiwork. Really, it was impossible to see anything wrong.

This was going to be beautiful.

*

Things hadn't improved any by dinner. Racetrack shook his head a little and decided to blow off the evening activity in favor of figuring out what was going on. Which turned out to be a good idea, because after dinner Jack slipped quietly out of the dining hall and instead of going to his bunk or to the evening activity, he followed the path to the counselor only cabin, where, theoretically, counselors could go to get away from it all when they had a free moment.

Race wasn't a counselor, but no one seemed to remember that about him. So he followed Jack in and watched Jack light up his cigarette before clearing his throat loudly.

"Hey!" Jack greeted him, a little more anxious than he should have sounded. "What's up?"

"You tell me." Race leaned against the wall and waited.

"Tell you what?"

"Well, why you and David haven't said a word to each other all day, for one thing, when usually you're inseparable." Race raised an eyebrow, and Jack blanched and looked guilty but didn't say anything. "Well?"

"Nothing's up."

"Riiiight." Race waited. Jack smoked. Race waited. Jack looked over at him guiltily.

"You remember how you called me stupid? And said Davey would figure things out if I didn't tell him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, uh Yeah."

"You told him."

"In a manner of speaking." Jack sighed and exhaled a plume of smoke. "Yeah."

"Care to clarify?"

"Not really."

Race just looked at him.

Jack sighed. "So I told him I was gay and that was fine, he was cool, we got along Real well. And, uh, yeah."

"Jack, you've got to tell me more than 'yeah'. So you were getting along You told him you liked him?"

"Uh, not exactly."

_"Jack."_

"I kissed him, Race. It was really really stupid and I know I shouldn't have and I know I could get fired, but God, he must hate me now or something."

Race stared for a second, and Jack looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. Race shook his head. "Wow, that's Yeah, that was pretty dumb."

"So I'm screwed."

"Well, does anyone else know about it? Other than you and me and him?"

"Only if he's told someone."

"Right, well Did you talk to him about it? He probably won't tell anyone if"

"I can't just talk to him, Race!" Jack half-yelled. "I can't, hewhat if he hates me? God, if he hates me"

"Well, you'll never know unless you _ask_ him, Jack."

"Then I guess I'll never know, huh?"

"Jack, come on. You did something stupid; he's a nice guy. He'll understand, he'll get over it." He shrugged. "He might even be flattered, you never know."

"Yeah, right. Would _you_ be flattered? I'd be freaked."

"Well, yes, I'd be flattered; and yes, he probably is freaked out too. You _kissed_ him, and he didn't expect it, of course he's freaked out. Which is why you need to talk to him."

"I can't"

"Jack. _Listen to me._ If you like him, you owe it to him; besides, if you want to keep your job, you have to at least ask him not to tell anyone."

"Yeah, 'cause _that_ doesn't make me sound like a huge jerk. 'Hey, Dave, sorry I freaked you out the other night, it was nothing, please GOD don't tell anyone, okay?'"

"Better that than fired because he got freaked out when _you_ wouldn't talk to him and he talked to someone else."

Jack said nothing, just finally dropped the remains of his cigarette into an ashtray. Race waited.

"What if he hates me?" Jack finally mumbled. "If I go and I talk to him and he's just disgusted by everything and doesn't want to talk to me anymore?"

"At least you'll know."

"I don't want to know that."

Race gritted his teeth for a second. He hated it when Jack was being difficult, because they both knew that Race was _right._ "Jack. What if he isn't mad and doesn't hate you, just was startled? He's not gonna talk to you, he's probably too shy to do that. _You_ kissed _him,_ now it's up to _you_ to make things right."

"But"

"No buts, Jack. You know I'm right."

Jack sighed. "I _know,_ but"

"Come on; it won't be so hard. It's just Davey, he's a nice guy. He'll understand."

"What if he doesn't?"

"You're really annoying, Jack, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah; my step dad tells me all the time."

_"Jack"_

Jack shrugged. "Well, he does."

"Yeah, but that's not the point. Do you really think David is the sort of guy who'd be mad at you? I mean, if you being gay didn't freak him out at _all,_ if you just explain that yes, you have a crush on him; you're sorry you startled him and you won't do it again, really, do you think he's the type who'd hate you?"

"no" Jack mumbled.

"Then go _do it."_

Jack groaned. "Yeah Okay, fine, I will."

"Good."

"But you gotta do me a favor, Race."

"Sure, whatever, justwait, what?"

"You gotta talk to him first. So if he's gonna freak out, at least I'll _know."_

"Oh, no. No, this is between the two of you and I'm not getting involved."

"You already _are_ involved. C'mon, Race, please?"

Race sighed. "You swear you'll talk to him after?"

"Swear."

"Even if it doesn't go so well?"

Jack winced, but nodded.

_"Fine._ You owe me."

"Thanks, Race," Jack said gratefully. Racetrack just rolled his eyes and stomped out of the cabin.

*

Race found David sitting on the porch of their cabin, staring off at nothing, a notebook open on his lap. He glanced down and saw the phrase "Dear Mom," but that was all that was written.

"Hey, Dave."

Dave looked up and nodded a little, but didn't say anything.

Race sat down. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Well Jack, I'd figure."

"Why Why would you figure that?"

Race sighed. "Jack told me about last night, Dave."

"Oh."

Race waited for more of a reaction and got none. So finally, he just continued, "You Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Race raised an eyebrow. "You want to talk to Jack, then?"

David froze for a second. "Talk to _Jack?"_ he repeated.

"Well, yeah. Ya know, figure out where you stand with each other."

"What do you _mean_ where we stand?"

Race groaned. Talking to David was not easy, and he suspected David was doing that on purpose. Well. Probably not _actually, _but David was being frustrating, intentionally or not. "Well, you probably figured he likes you, right?"

"He He does?" David mumbled, gripping his pencil tightly.

"Uh, yes."

"Oh." David blinked.

"He kissed you, Dave; of _course_ he likes you."

"Okay."

"So you two should talk so that you can figure out if I don't know, if you want to stay friends or whatever."

"Of course I want to be friends with him. I just"

Race waited.

David stared down at his hands and the pencil.

Race cleared his throat.

"I just don't know about I mean, Jack _kissed_ me. I don't know how I Feel. About that."

"Well, why not? What's confusing you?" Race asked calmly, slipping into the voice he used on the crisis line. Nothing hostile or demanding, just friendly and calm and solid. He'd let David reach his own conclusions, whatever they were.

"I don't _know,"_ David groaned. "Just, he, uh No one's ever kissed me before. Jack knew that."

"So is it just being kissed? I mean, that's weird when you get right down to it; kissing as an act is kind of bizarre. Or is it because it was Jack? Or just that you didn't expect it?"

"I don't _know,"_ David snapped, and it was obvious how frustrated he must have been. "II just don't know. It'sI know it shouldn't be a big deal and it shouldn't bother me and I swear I don't care about About Jack being gay, it doesn't matter, but"

Race took a deep breath. "But suddenly it's not an abstract thing anymore, right?" he suggested gently. "It doesn't bother you that Jack is gay, but him liking you makes you feel kind of different about the whole thing."

David shrugged.

"It's okay, you know."

"No it's _not._ I'm not I'm not some macho jerk who's so concerned about my my image or my manhood or _whatever_ that I'd just freak out and" David sighed. "Beat him up in the parking lot the next day."

Race winced. "Jack told you 'bout that?"

"Yeah. So I just"

"You're a little uncomfortable, and you're afraid that makes you a jerk."

"Something like that."

"Hey; as long as you're worried about it, it can't be true. If you didn't care, you'd be in danger. But you care. So"

"I shouldn't care."

Race leant back in the rickety wooden chair. "Davey, chill. If you're upset because you think you _reacting_ to Jack will upset _him,_ then you're fine. For just a minute here you should sit back and think about how _you_ feel, not how _he _feels."

"But"

"Listen, it's really okay to be startled or to be a little freaked out, and out of everything that's worrying Jack right now it's more if he upset you than if you upset him. A _lot_ more."

David said nothing.

"Well, look; if you're Okay, then you should talk to Jack, I really think the two of you should"

"Race, how do you know you're straight?"

Race fell silent, then took a deep breath and went into his crisis line mode again. "Well, uh Really, that's hard to say. It generally has something to do with liking girls and not boys, though."

"Great, thanks a _lot."_

"I know, not much of an answer. It's just sort of a tough question. I think Well, it's just _me,_ but I think sexuality is a lot more fluid than most people assume. I think people put way too much stock in labels like gay or straight."

"So you don't consider yourself straight?"

"I consider myself basically attracted to girls, yeah."

"But"

He shrugged. "I'd like to think I'd be open to it if there was ever a boy who I was interested in for whatever reason; that I wouldn't be so straight that I'd limit myself from something that could be really good."

"Oh."

"But, y'know, what works for me isn't necessarily right for everyone. There really is no normal when it comes to things like this. That's just how _I_ feel."

"Have you thought about it a lot?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"A bit?"

"One of my brothers is gay. Gave the whole family a lot to think about."

"I didn't know you had brothers."

Race laughed. "Davey I've got _seven_ brothers. And they're all older."

"Wow. That's A pretty big family."

"Well, three of them are adopted, but yeah. It's sad, I get more privacy in the cabin all summer than I would with my family at home."

"I can't even imagine having seven brothers."

"It's, uh Well. It's loud and kind of annoying a lot of the time, but not _so_ bad. Sometimes it's great."

"Yeah?"

Race laughed a little again. "There was this bully when I was in, like, second grade And he started being a jerk and can you imagine his face when _four_ older kids came over and told him off?"

"Must be nice."

"It's never boring, anyway." Race gave his shoulder a pat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just gotta sort some things out, I guess."

"Well, you work on that. I'll let Jack know you're not pissed and You're_ not _pissed, right?"

"No, just Confused."

"Well, that's all right, then." Race stood up. "I'll see ya later, Davey. Don't worry about this too much; Jack's a nice guy. You'll work it out." He patted David's shoulder again, and headed off down to the main part of camp to give Jack the all clear.

*

"God, why won't he just _leave_ me _alone?"_ Sarah whined, as she and Shakes walked towards their cabin. "Did you see him tonight?"

"He was showing off for you," Shakes giggled. "Come on, it's kind of sweet. And he did get, like, four guys out for you."

"I wish he'd just ask me out or something so I could tell him _no._ And make him _stop."_

"You could just talk to him about it, you know," Shakes suggested.

"Uh No." Sarah shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"Because," Sarah sighed. "That would just be _weird._ I mean, he likes me; he's supposed to talk to _me,_ right?"

"I guess, but if you know he likes you"

"But what if he doesn't and I'm imagining it? It's so up to him. That's, like, the rule."

"It's kind of a dumb rule, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't."

Shakes rolled her eyes but didn't bother to answer. Sarah had very clear ideas about what was and wasn't normal behavior, and Shakes was pretty sure nothing would get her to change their mind. She pushed open the door to their bunk, so they could grab sweatshirts before heading to the dining hall for the evening coffee and cookies session. It did get chilly down by the lake after the sun set, after all.

Sarah grabbed her sweatshirt and sat down on her bed to pull it on. She failed to notice the faint crunching noise as she sat, since it was mostly muffled by blankets anyway.

As far as Sarah knew, all was normal as she and Shakes walked back towards the dining hall. She was even a little bit optimistic, since Jack was back from the infirmary and all. He might be there And maybe, if she flirted with him, Blink would get the hint and leave her alone.

As it turned out, she was wrong on all counts.


	17. Pranks, Poker and Punishment

For one thing, Jack was not in the dining hall. Sarah sighed; so much for _that_ idea. She glanced around, and David wasn't there either. No surprise. He was probably up in his cabin being antisocial. Just like always.

On the other hand, Blink _was_ there. He waved as soon as she walked in and walked over to her. "Hey, hey." He grinned. "What's up? Want some coffee? Cookie?"

"What are you, a stewardess?" she asked, irritated by the lack of Jack.

He laughed and led her and Shakes to the table where he and Mush had been sitting, sort of against her will. She didn't actually walk off, just visibly rolled her eyes and sat down. Mush raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. She ignored it.

"So Sarah, nothing yet?" he asked, giving a suspicious look at Smurf, Hotshot and Swinger, who were sitting at another table and whispering at each other. Except for now and then, when Smurf would loudly start yelling at Swinger to speak English, and Swinger would start yelling in jive, which no one else understood, and Hotshot would have to shut them up.

"Nope. Maybe they won't do anything," Sarah said.

"I doubt it. I know Smurf, she'll—"

"The _problem_ is _Hotshot."_

Mush snickered and as Blink nodded, Mush commented, "Your problem, maybe. But Blink and Smurf—"

"Are lunatics? I noticed."

Blink looked kind of offended. "Well, we get a little... Yeah, anyway, I was thinking that after the IceyHot—"

"Blink," Sarah interrupted, annoyed, "would you just chill? Okay? Jeeze... I'm gonna head off. I'll see you later."

She stood up and Shakes rolled her eyes a little bit and did the same. Blink shrugged, clearly slightly hurt, and said a quick goodnight. To which he got the tactful reply, "Yeah, whatever," and Sarah walked off.

Mush shot Blink a sad look. "She's not into it."

"You mean me." He sighed, and watched as they left the dining hall. "She's not into me."

"Sorry," Mush said quickly. "Don't worry about it, she's not—"

"Yeah, yeah." Blink shrugged. "You wouldn't know, huh? _All_ the girls love you."

"Ught, you can _have_ them." Mush reached for Blink's coffee and finished it off. Blink rolled his eyes a little.

*

"You should at least be _nice_ to him," Shakes scoffed. "I mean, he's a nice guy."

"I didn't say he's not!" Sarah snapped. "I just said, I don't like him like that, and if he doesn't get the idea..."

"You should _tell_ him."

"If he tells me—"

"You are so irritating sometimes," Shakes groaned. "This is 2003, Sarah. It's not like you'd have to ask him to ask you to the dance, it's not like you can't talk to _him_ about his crush on you. You're a liberated woman."

"Whatever." Sarah tossed her hair over her shoulder as they walked into the cabin. "Anyway, I—"

"What is _that?!"_ Shakes interrupted.

"What—what the...?"

Sarah glanced over at where Shakes was pointing, and saw a busy line of ants, crawling from a crack in the wall over to their bunk. She stared at it for a second, then shuddered a little bit. Insects. _Gross._ She walked over to their bunk to see what they were looking to eat, and noticed that they were marching slightly up the bedpost.

She had a sinking feeling and looked over at Shakes, who looked a little woozy. "I hate bugs," Sarah said.

"Me too."

Wincing away as she did it, Sarah crouched down to see where the ants were going. And it was directly... under her sheets. She squeaked slightly and threw back the sheet and blanket, and _screamed._

Someone had coated her sheet with honey and empty candy wrappers.

And it was absolutely _coated_ in ants. There were a few other insects as well, and it was disgusting and swarming with creatures, and Sarah didn't stop screaming. Shakes glanced down to see and she started screaming too, and _finally_ Paint rushed in from the other bunk to see what was going on.

"What is—"

_"Look what they did to my bed!"_

Paint looked, and shuddered. "That's disgusting."

_"My bed!"_

"Sarah, calm down, it's—"

"It's my _bed_ and it's _covered_ in _insects_ and—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh."

"Woah, okay, hey." Paint sighed. "Come on, why don't you two wait outside and I'll..." She made a face looking down at the blanket. "Take care of this and... get some insect spray from Mrs. Higgins house. Do you know who did this?"

"Yes." Sarah crossed her arms and glared.

"Proof?"

"No, but—"

"Oh, never _mind_. Just go, now; Rebel should be patrolling tonight so if you can find her and ask her to come up here, please..."

"Okay." Sarah shuddered again, and felt a little sick. She _hated_ insects. She and Shakes walked out to see Hotshot, Smurf and Swinger standing around watching, and laughing.

Hotshot smirked, raised an eyebrow, and didn't say anything.

Sarah shuddered, and turned away. She just wasn't quite up to yelling. So she and Shakes walked down to the next unit, looking for the counselor who was patrolling the girls' side of camp.

*

"Jack."

Jack looked up, a little startled. He'd been sitting in one of the armchairs in the counselor's cabin, half-heartedly reading a novel that had been lying around, smoking. He put out the cigarette and nodded.

"Hey, Race." He slumped in the chair and set the book aside. "So what's the bad news, huh?"

"No bad news, Cowboy." Race grinned a little. "Go talk to him."

"What did he _say?"_

"That wasn't part of the deal, Jacky. I just had to talk to him. Now _you_ go talk."

"Race..." Jack said hesitantly.

"He doesn't hate you, dope. Go _on_ already." Race held out a hand and helped haul Jack to his feet, and gave him a hearty push to the door. "He's up in the cabin, he's the only one there."

"Race..."

"Oh, no." Race shoved him out the door. "No. _You_ kissed him. And you and promised me. If you think you're getting out of—"

"Yeah, I'm going already! Jesus." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Jack. Good luck." Race shrugged. "I'll keep everyone busy in the dining hall, if I can. Give you two awhile."

As they fell in to step together, Jack asked curiously, "How?"

Race grinned. "Spot said he wants to play some poker. And we _always_ have an audience."

Race stopped at the dining hall, and Jack slowly trudged up the hill to Pentland. He saw David before David noticed him; Dave was still sitting on the porch, alternately staring out into the distance, or down at his notebook, pen clenched in one hand. But he wasn't writing. Jack watched as, frustrated, David dropped the pen onto his lap and ran a hand through his curls, then leaned back in the chair, trying to relax.

Jack swallowed hard. David running his hand through his curls... He tried hard not to think about how much he wanted to play with the curls himself, tangle his fingers in David's hair, hold David close to him...

But David was straight. And Jack was going to have to get used to it. He sighed and stepped on to the porch, and at the sound of his footstep David looked up, a little startled.

"Hey... Dave," Jack said slowly.

"Hey."

Jack hesitated then asked, "Can I sit down?"

"Yeah, sure, you can... Sit."

Jack sat in the chair next to David's and they both stared off into space for awhile. And finally Jack said, "I'm real sorry about last night."

"It's fine."

"It's—it's _not_ fine, Dave. I like you."

"Jack..."

"I mean it. I..." Jack was having a hard time talking, there was a lump in his throat. He'd come up to the cabin to be rejected, but that didn't make it any easier. "I haven't felt like this before. Not about anyone. You're... Different. You're a nice guy, Davey. So I just... I just wanted to say I'm real sorry about doing that to you last night."

David nodded a little, but it took a few seconds for him to answer. "It's... I mean, you don't have to be sorry, I just..." He shook his head a little. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Davey."

"But I want to. I just... No one's ever liked me before."

"I doubt that."

"I'm serious, Jack. I mean it. I... I'm not upset, just..."

"Straight."

"Yeah."

Jack sighed. "I know that. I knew that last night, and I shouldn't have done it. I... put you in a weird position and now things are gonna be... Weird. And I'm so sorry. I don't... It's not like I just like you like _that,_ I think you're really cool and... A good friend."

"You're my friend too." David didn't even hesitate before he said that; for all he felt strange about everything that had happened, he knew that, more than anything else, he didn't want to lose Jack's friendship. "Jack, don't worry. Nothing's going to change that. Okay?"

Jack looked over at him, and David half-smiled. He shrugged. David reached out to put a hand on his arm, then froze, jerked it away, bit his lip and let his arm sit on his chair's arm rest. Jack winced.

"Yeah. It's fine," Jack mumbled.

"I'm sorry," David said quietly.

"Not your fault. I—look, Davey, I like you but I'll... Deal with it. I won't do anything like that again. I promise."

"Okay." David shrugged. "Yeah, okay. I don't want there to be anything... anything awkward between us."

Jack nodded. "Me neither," he agreed. "So I'll just, uh, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry—I shouldn't even—I could get fired, David. I don't even care, that ain't why I'm talking to you, but if anyone finds out I could lose my job..."

David nodded a little. "And then you'd have to go back to your dad's..."

"Yeah."

"I won't tell, Jack." He shrugged. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Thanks, Davey. I'm so sorry I even brought it up, I messed everything up and then to bring up something like that—"

"It's okay, seriously. I don't want you to get in trouble. You're... My friend. So don't even worry."

"Yeah, uh... Thanks for taking everything so well. I know it's a lot to dump on you and... yeah."

David shrugged. "It's not that big a deal. We'll just... be friends. It'll be fine."

"Fine."  Jack stood up. "Hey, come down to the dining hall with me. There's a card game going on, you won't want to miss it."

"I... I don't play cards, really."

"No, not to play, to watch." He laughed. "You spent any time with Spot yet?"

"Uh... He's the guy in Ferguson, right?"

"Yeah."

"I've seen him around." David shrugged.

"All right, well, he and Race have this tradition where they play cards." Jack laughed. "It's the funniest thing _ever."_

 

*

 

By the time they arrived in the dining hall, the air was tense. No one was moving, but everyone—all of the senior boys and most of the girls, minus Smurf, Hotshot, Shakes and Sarah—were gathered around a table, pressed in to see the action. They were standing close enough together that David had to stand on his tiptoes to see what they were staring at, unable to push through them.

Seated at the table, staring at each other intently, were Spot and race. Race looked vaguely amused, and Spot looked vaguely annoyed; a pile of toothpicks was dumped between them, they each had their own piles, and finally Spot nodded and slid two more toothpicks from his own stash into the pot in the middle, and nodded at Race.

Race smirked and slid three more in.

Spot raised an eyebrow and matched him.

Race raised the bet again.

Spot matched him.

Race raised it again.

Spot glared and matched him again.

Race glanced down at his cards, shrugged, and put another toothpick into the pot.

Spot tapped his fingers impatiently and matched him.

David watched in confused silence, afraid to speak.

Race cocked his head to the side and studied Spot, who took advantage of the pause to reach for a cup of coffee next to him and finish it off, unaffected by Race's steady gaze. Finally, Race snorted and put five more toothpicks into the pile.

Spot set down the coffee cup, sighed, and matched him. The pile was growing out of control.

Race raised an eyebrow. "Your funeral," he said.

"We'll see. You ready _yet?"_

"I was, but for that..." He upped the bet by a last toothpick. Spot rolled his eyes and matched, and finally Race nodded. "Lay 'em down," he said.

The onlookers all gasped in deep breaths.

Spot and Race both laid down their hands, and everyone leaned in to observe. Spot had a flush, which was definitely a hand worth betting on, but Race's was better: four of a kind.

There was a collective "Ooooooooooh," from the onlookers, and David noticed a few people seemed to have placed bets—notably _not_ with toothpicks—on the outcome of the hand.

Race had the good grace not to smirk as he collected his winnings and looked over at Spot's vastly smaller remaining pile of toothpicks. And Spot only glared a little in response. "So," Race said finally, "you wanna give up now, or should I beat you again?"

Spot just gathered the cards and began to shuffle.

 

*

 

Mrs. Higgins did not look thrilled, but that was largely because she _wasn't_ thrilled. She was the opposite of thrilled. It was past eleven at night, and not only had she been forced to come deal with a bunch of nonsense, but she'd had to rouse Denton as well, to deal with some stupid, immature prank war.

Needless to say, the looks she was giving the campers in front of her spoke _volumes._

Sarah tried her best to slink back into the wall, wishing she was anywhere but there, but especially wishing she was home; Shakes had her knees pulled up to her chest and quietly awaited the coming storm; Hotshot's arms were crossed and she looked angry, though a bit nervous as well; and Smurf was biting her nails and looking incredibly guilty. Mrs. Higgins regarded them all coldly, and then started.

"Well, I hope you're _proud_ of yourselves. You've dragged us out of bed to deal with this mess, we have to find Miss Jacobs somewhere to sleep tonight, not to mention call in an exterminator to deal with the bunk and prevent any _further_ damage from occurring. You've inconvenienced everyone, broken _numerous_ rules, and I really see no reason to _not_ send you all home for the summer."

She paused and glared, and the four campers shared a nervous silence. Smurf was biting her nails still and made a particularly loud crunching sound, then balled her hands into fists and tried to pretend she hadn't been biting them at all. Hotshot glared right back at Mrs. Higgins for a long moment, but the camp director had a particularly steady and piercing gaze, and eventually Hotshot lost the staring contest and gave up guiltily. Shakes looked downright miserable, and Sarah was nervous, but suddenly... hopeful.

She might get to go home. She didn't want to be in trouble, she didn't want to have to explain to her parents about the prank war, but she might get to go _home._ For the rest of the summer. And probably be banned from camp for the rest of her life. And the only possible downside she could think of was not getting to see Jack anymore, and even that was worth it. Though given how close he and David seemed to be, she doubted she'd never hear from him again...

But she knew better than to _look_ hopeful. She didn't want Mrs. Higgins to realize it would be a reward, not a punishment.

Mrs. Higgins glared at them and finally continued. _"However,_ as Chancey has been kind enough to mention, while we all know full well who has been responsible for these pranks, none of them have been _witnessed._ So while there will be punishment—I can not take this lightly, girls—I will not be sending anyone home. _This_ time. But one more screw up, and you're gone. Is that understood?"

In response she got vaguely affirmative mumbles and nods from the campers. Sarah felt her heart sink slightly; she really didn't want to stay at camp. She'd never wanted to be there to begin with.

"Obviously as I'm not a parent, I can't ground you—but I _can_ pull you from activities," Mrs. Higgins continued. "It seems to me that to make up for the inconvenience this causes the staff and each other, you ought to be willing to work _with_ the camp staff. Ms. Lynn, Ms. Kay; you two will spend the next three days assisting the stable and barn staff; Ms. Jacobs, Ms. Lewins, you two will spend the next three days assisting the kitchen staff. After that, assuming no more _incidents_ have taken place, you will all be allowed to return to activities as usual.

"To _help_ avoid any temptation, we will also be rearranging several of the bunk assignments—tomorrow. I'm not going to wake any of your far better behaved peers because of the four of _you._ Miss Jacobs, Miss Kay, you two will be staying in the infirmary tonight until your bunk has been cleaned. And _you two—"_ she glared especially hard at Smurf and Hotshot, as Sarah realized for the first time she had no idea what her bunk mates' actual names were, "...will return to your bunk now.

"I am warning the four of you, though. I will not tolerate any more of this nonsense. _Is that clear?"_

Another round of nodding and mumbling, and she sighed. "Then _you_ two will go to back to your cabin—_straight_ back—and you two will go get beds made up upstairs."

She glared at them for another second and then stood aside and gestured at the door to the office, and watched the four girls scuttle out.

As Sarah found the sheets Triage had dug out for her, she found herself even more depressed. She had to spend the night on the uncomfortable infirmary bed; she didn't get to go home for the summer, and _instead_ she had to do kitchen work for the next three days. Irritated and depressed, she finally lay down to sleep, or at least, to sulk until she fell asleep.

As she stared at the ceiling through the dim light, waiting to sleep, she found herself wondering how this had happened, and whose fault it was. And then abruptly, she knew.

It was all Blink's fault.

When Sarah fell asleep, she was not a happy camper.


	18. Beautiful Schemers

Sarah woke up far earlier than she'd have liked, though not by choice. It was barely six in the morning when Triage shook her and Shakes awake, told them to get ready and head out for their assigned punishment. Groggily, she made her way to the dining hall, and let herself into the kitchen.

A scary old man was yelling at the kitchen staff, full of people she'd never actually met. The workers didn't seem to take him too seriously, though. There were four of them, and they all stopped and stared as Sarah walked in, followed a minute later by Smurf.

"So _you're _the two girls Mrs. Higgins has... _foisted_ on me," the scary old man grumbled. "Just do what I tell you and stay out of the way of people who know what they're doing and we'll get along _fine."_ He glared at them, leaving them both with the distinct impression that 'get along fine,' meant little more than he wouldn't actively scream at them very often.

Breakfast was pancakes, which required the mass production of batter, which meant people crowded together measuring and mixing and cooking. Sarah and Smurf found themselves shoved together, Smurf pouring in flour to a batter as Smurf ran an oversized mixer.

Which didn't work out very well.

"Would you just hold the damn bowl in one place?" Smurf yelled.

"I _am_ holding the bowl in one place, if you'd just pour _into_ it and not on the goddamn counter—"

"Would you both shut up?!" One of the chief kitchen assistants angrily waved a batter-coated spatula at them. "And stop wasting ingredients!"

"Yeah, _Smurf,"_ Sarah muttered.

"Bite me," Smurf answered and stepped on her foot.

Sarah glared and they went back to working as the other kitchen workers glared at them.

*

David groaned as they walked to breakfast. "This week sucks."

"Stop whining, crybaby," Skittery said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, hey, Blink. What about Crybaby? We need to get him _some_ nickname already, it's weird that there's someone in the bunk without one."

"Skittery, would you give it up? He's immune to nicknames," Blink answered.

"Nah, we'll find him one."

The second bell was chiming. David couldn't believe he had to be at the dining hall at the _second_ bell. That meant actually get up at the first. But it was his week as a hopper—and worse still, the counselor at his table was Morris Delancey. So he had to be at every meal early _and_ deal with one of the nastiest counselors at camp. But apparently this week a lot of the Senior campers had been drafted into service as hoppers, as Blink and Skittery were also required to be there early, and so were two kids in Ferguson.

"It's only for a week," Blink consoled, as they all made their way inside the dining hall and to the kitchen, where all the dishes were set to be brought out to tables. Blink's eye opened a little wider when he saw Sarah angrily shoving glasses into groups of nine on the pick up table.

"Hey," he said, grinning.

She scowled at him.

"Uh, what's... up?"

"Thanks to your idiotic pranks, _I_ have KP for three days. Thanks a _lot."_

"Sorry," he answered quickly.

"Shut _up,_ Sarah!" Smurf yelled from the next table over, separating silverware. "God, take some responsibility for your_self."_

"Yeah? Well if it wasn't for your stupid ant prank—"

"It was _Hotshot's_ idea and—"

"Would you both _shut up and do work?!"_ one of the other kitchen staffers yelled. "God, you can't cook, if you can't even sort silverware—"

"Yeah, yeah, _working!" _Smurf yelled back and made a face.

Blink smirked. "Have fun, Smurf." He picked up his group of glasses. "See you in a bit, Sarah."

She rolled his eyes and Smurf scowled as he turned around. David, standing in line behind Blink, gave her a strange look. "You have a problem with Blink?" he asked Sarah.

"It's his fault I'm here."

"Uh... not really—"

"Shut up, David."

"Fine." He picked up his cups. "Hey, Smurf."

"Hey, Dave." She shot a look at Sarah. "It's gotta _suck_ to deal with her year round, God, how do you do it?"

He laughed. "Us? We're not _related,"_ he answered. Smurf laughed and Sarah glowered, and he made his way back to the dining room to set up. A few counselors had come in; campers were absolutely not allowed in until the bell, but staff members often came in beforehand.

Jack was sitting at his own table, which was being set by one of the girls at camp, drinking a cup of coffee and staring blankly out the window at the lake. David smiled a little bit as he went on his way.

Smurf had taken over for Sarah handing out dishes. She was glaring angrily at Blink, who was laughing. The reason was pretty clear; Smurf was now wearing a typical cafeteria hairnet, her curly hair sticking out, random blue strands sticking to her forehead. "Swear to God, I'll spit on your waffles," she muttered and shoved a stack of plates at him.

Blink just chuckled. David raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like this was exactly a fashion statement on my part!" she snapped.

"I just want to see Sarah wearing it is all." Smurf obligingly stepped out of his way and he glanced into the back, and sure enough, her hair was tucked up in hairnet as well. He grinned to himself. "That's a good look, Sarah," he called.

"Bite me," was the snarled answer.

David grinned a little as he let himself out again.

*

There were three interesting announcements at breakfast. The first was that partners would be announced for the camper-counselor tennis tournament, which would take place through the next week; second, that the end of the week would be the summer's first sailing races; and finally, that the end of the week was also the first of two summer dances.

Snitch grinned at the first announcement, and Blink grinned at the second. At the third, Mush groaned and tried to sink into the dining hall bench, stared down at his empty plate, and refused to look up, lest he accidentally make eye contact with... Well, anyone. Dance week did nothing but make his stalkers _worse._

They were dismissed and everyone began to file out of the dining hall. Jack searched out David as he began to walk off, called after him, and jogged to catch up. David stopped and waited for him, and Jack touched his shoulder unthinkingly as they fell into step—then dropped his hand. "Sorry," he apologized quickly.

"It's... It's okay," David said. He bit his lip slightly; he hadn't minded when Jack had reached out for him and wished it didn't bother Jack, either... Part of him wondered if he _should_ mind, but even though he knew how Jack felt, he trusted Jack to understand the situation, and anyway, it was kind of flattering that Jack liked him. No one ever had before, and Jack was definitely the sort of guy who he'd have liked, if he'd liked guys. But he pushed that thought out of his mind, almost before it formed. "So what's up, Jack?"

"Just, uh. Hey, you wanna be my partner for camper-counselor?"

"I thought those were randomly chosen?"

"Yeah, you're supposed to think that, but counselors always choose." Jack grinned his slightly too large to be real smile, then it faltered. "I mean—uh—I'm not asking 'cause—'cause you know. You're just my friend, is all, so—"

"Yeah, I mean—if you want me to. I kind of suck at tennis." He shrugged.

"You can't be too bad."

"I really can. But if you want me to... I mean, don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll get our names down on the list."

"Okay." David looked over at him and sort of smiled. "Jack, seriously, we don't have to be... awkward. I, uh... I mean, we're friends still, so you can..." David shrugged. "I'm just saying it's okay."

A flicker of a smile crossed Jack's face. "Davey, that's..." A thought occurred to him. "Hey. How many people call you Davey anyway? Or is it... David? Dave?"

"Any of the above... I guess most people call me David, people at school call me Dave usually... I never really thought about it. Mostly it's just the people I'm pretty close to who call me Davey... Not many at all."

Jack nodded, started to speak, stopped, then finally said, "Okay. Just wondering..." He coughed slightly. "Dave."

They were past Jack's bunk now, on the way up the hill to David's, and David paused. "Davey, Jack." He smiled. "You can call me Davey."

Jack tried his hardest not to grin at David, and almost shyly turned away. "I should go... herd the kids back to the bunk and then head up to riding."

"Yeah, okay." David paused. "I seriously suck at tennis, Jack."

"I'm sure you're fine. Go to tennis for an hour or two today. Learn the basics."

"Yeah, trust me. It'll take more than an hour or two to do that."

"Well... It's just a game anyway, for fun. So you do what you can, and we'll have fun." He self-consciously patted David's arm again. "Anyway, I'll see you at lunch, Davey."

David kind of smiled as they parted ways and he continued up to his bunk. He liked the way his name sounded when Jack said it, and he liked the way Jack touched his shoulder. It definitely beat being awkward.

*

Trixie was taking an afternoon to go sailing. Which wasn't entirely unheard of—all the kids in the theater were eventually forced to go do other activities, supposedly at least three a day. Which didn't happen nearly as often as it was supposed to, since most of the theater people liked to stay there almost all day, but with the tennis tournament and the sailing races coming up, people didn't mind so much, as it helped them get in ready.

And anyway, Trixie had promised Smurf she'd go sailing. The sailboats used in the race were two person rigs, and she was usually Smurf's partner in the races, though Smurf always did almost all of the work herself. But Trixie at least had to prepare.

The beach was crowded, while the various boating counselors tried to keep everyone busy, under control, and out of trouble. Dutchy asked her about three questions to make sure she wasn't going to drown herself, then pointed at Blink, who was sitting on one of the sailboats, waiting for a partner. She scowled slightly—knowing Smurf from home lead to some of her rather extreme views of Blink rubbing off—but made her way through the sand.

Blink rolled his eye. "Ught, not _you._ You're almost as bad as _her."_

"And _we're_ gonna kick your butt, so deal with it." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm just here for an hour, while Mush is at tennis."

"Stalker," he muttered, and they stood up and they began to assemble the folded down sailboat, and wade into the water with it. "You know he's not gonna... _come around,_ right?"

"We'll see." She glowered, as he dropped the rudder into place as they made their way out of the shallows. "He's more likely to come around than Sarah is."

"Hey!" Blink yelped, then hissed, "How do you _know,_ anyway?"

"Everyone knows. You're _obvious._ And yeah, helping her against Smurf and Hotshot was kind of a blatant move."

"Funny, I did _that_ because I don't like _Smurf._ Not because I like Sarah."

"Whatever you say." She shrugged. "Tack?" she added, glancing at the luffing sail.

"Yeah... Ready?"

"Yeah."

Blink reached for the rudder and turned; Trixie ducked as the boat shifted directions, the sail filled out, and the boom—the large beam attached to the bottom of the sail—swung around over her head. With the sail full, they picked up speed.

"You know," Trixie mused, "_you_ could help me."

"Help you want?" he asked, playing with one of the ropes.

"With Mush. Getting him to go to the dance with me." She grinned. "You could always put in a good word."

"Why would I want to do that?" he answered, looking kind of bemused.

"To be nice?"

"Nice? To you? You're Smurf's best friend."

"It's not like I'm _her._ And you're _Mush's_ best friend, come on. Please?"

"Why should I?"

Trixie glanced around, like she thought someone might somehow be able to hear her, despite the fact that they were zipping around the lake, further away than any of the other sailboats. "I could throw the race."

Blink's eyebrows shot up. "You could _what?"_

"If you get Mush to go to the dance with me, I can mess up Smurf."

"I can't believe this." He leaned back on the tiny space of the deck. "You didn't just offer that."

"Oh, come on. I've had a crush on him for three years, _please?"_

"You just offered to sell out your best friend!"

"For a good cause!" she answered indignantly. "Anyway, you wanted a reason to help me. That's a reason."

"I seriously don't believe you." He shook his head slightly.

"Well, do you want me to or not?"

"No!" he yelped. "Look—for one, nothing will ever convince Mush to say yes to you. He just doesn't like you like that. You're a freaky stalker. And second, when I beat Smurf—which I will—I want to do it fair and square."

"Your loss." She shrugged. "We're gonna kick your butt."

"We'll _see."_

"We _will._ We did last year."

"Only at the second race—I won the first one. _And_ both the year before that."

"And _we_ won both the year before _that."_

"That's four years ago—it doesn't even count now."

"Neither does three years ago, then."

_"Fine."_ He glared at her. "And you're not going to win."

"Wanna bet? _You_ two are evenly matched, and _I'm_ here practicing, and you don't even know who your partner is yet—Mush is gonna be doing tennis instead."

He scowled. She had a point.

"And anyway," she continued, reaching up to fix her pigtails, "Smurf brought her good luck charm."

"Right, I'm _terrified._ What is it, a rabbit's foot?"

"Ha." Trixie scoffed at him. "It's a _real_ good luck charm, not some stupid thing."

"Yeah, I'm so sure."

"You will be."

He rolled his eye again. "So what is it, then? Some charm doll a gypsy put a spell on?" he mocked.

"It _is_ a doll, and it's none of your business."

"A doll?" he repeated, then laughed. "Yeah, I'm scared of some _doll."_

"You should be. The summers she had it with her were the summers we _won._ Every time."

"Because of some stupid doll, yeah, that's what it was. What, does she sleep with it at night?"

"So what if she does?" Trixie scoffed. "Just you wait."

"She does!" He began laughing hysterically again. "Oh my god, Smurf sleeps with a doll at night, and no one _told_ me? That's..." He trailed off, laughing, and Trixie glared, then smirked.

"Overboard drill!" she declared and grabbed the rudder, ducked quickly and yanked it around. As the boom swung over her head the boat jerked suddenly; Blink lost his balance and toppled off the deck into the lake, then came up, sputtering, clutching his life jacket.

"You _suck,"_ he declared, and began to swim after the boat.

"We have to do a capsizing drill any. Come on." She sighed, took a deep breath, and slid off the boat and into the water.

*

She was in a rotten mood to begin with. The kitchen was hot and stuffy, as they cooked dinner in the mid-afternoon heat. Kloppman, the head cook, had gotten increasingly cranky as the day went on and his favorite targets were Smurf and Sarah, the interlopers, and the kitchen staff wasn't much nicer. It had been a long, awful day and really, Sarah just wanted to go for a quick evening swim, maybe stare at Jack a little bit—especially if he was swimming too, as the thought of a wet, glistening Jack was definitely pleasant—and go to bed.

Or better yet, Sarah just wanted to go _home._ Jack or no Jack, home was better than here. Almost anything was better than here. But before she could even leave, they had to get through dinner and clean up, and that was another two hours at least.

By the time the hoppers arrived to begin setting up for dinner, Sarah was in the most foul mood she could ever remember being in. And when Blink came in, grinning and with his hair still slightly damp from a post-activity shower, she was definitely not in the mood to deal with him.

"Hey, Sarah," he greeted her cheerfully.

"Hi." She definitely wasn't cheerful in return.

"How was your day?"

"Here." She shoved his tray of dishes at him.

"Okaaaaay." He smiled again, which she found inexplicably irritating. "So, uh... Not such a good day, I take it?"

"There are people in line _behind_ you," she answered.

"Oh—sorry!" He stepped to the side but didn't leave. She glowered. She just wanted him to leave her _alone_ already. "So I was thinking..." He trailed off, and then smiled. "How long are you on KP?"

"Two more days."

"So you'll be out by the dance!"

"The what?"

"Oh... Right. You missed that at breakfast." He set his tray down. "There's a dance at the end of the week. So I was thinking, if your punishment is over by then..."

She said nothing, just glared, and he continued.

"Just... I dunno, you wanna go with me or something?"

There was a long moment of silence, and it was like everyone in the kitchen held their breath. And finally, Sarah broke the silence.

"_No,_ I don't want to go with you!" she yelled. "I don't want to spend time with you, I don't even _like_ you! _You_ and your stupid ideas got me in trouble, thanks to you I can't even sleep in my own _bed_ until it's disinfected, and you still keep _following me around!_ Are you stupid? Are you actually blind in _both_ eyes? Because everyone else in the entire camp has noticed that I _just don't like you!"_

There was another quiet.

Blink picked up his tray and walked out of the kitchen without speaking another word, and all of the kitchen workers and all of the campers waiting in line just kind of stared, wordlessly.

Finally, as she went back to spooning some unidentifiable kind of meat into casserole dishes for the tables, Smurf commented, "Wow, Sarah. That was harsh. And that's coming from _me."_

             Sarah glared at her. "It's none of your business."

"I mean seriously—wow. I've been trying to find a way to hurt him that badly for four years, and you managed it in under a minute. That's kind of impressive."

"Shut _up."_

"Okay. I'm just saying... That was harsh."

*

Though with the evening, some of the excess heat melted away, there was an evening swim anyway. But the day had been long and hot, and even the swimmers were fairly subdued. Specs and Dutchy sat side by side on the dock, watching everything, but for a change there wasn't a lot of horseplay going on.

Hotshot, Smurf, Sarah and Shakes had been informed they were banned from free swim, too, so most of the usual trouble couldn't have happened. Hotshot couldn't provoke Sarah. Smurf and Blink couldn't fight. And Sarah wasn't there to fight with Hotshot.

Blink was also sitting on the dock, ankles in the water, a t-shirt on to indicate that he had no intentions of swimming, either. He just stared contemplatively off at the lake.

Free swim was almost over when Mush finally pulled himself out of the water and sat on the dock next to her. "C'mon, man," he said quietly. "She's just a girl. It's not a big deal."

"It's not a big deal when you've got every girl in camp after you," Blink answered.

Mush shrugged. "Seriously, you can have 'em."

"None of them would want me." He pulled his knees up to his chest, curled his toes slightly around the edge of the dock. "It's okay, Mush. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, well... How about I just sit here for awhile with you, okay? Or maybe you could come in, it's a good way to calm down."

"I am calm."

"You're sulking."

"Give me awhile to sulk."

"Okay." Mush shrugged, and leaned back on the dock, supporting himself with his arms and staring up at the sky. "Come on, look at the bright side. You can still beat the crap out of Smurf in the race."

"Yeah..." Blink sighed, then his eye suddenly lit up and he fell into a regular sitting position. "Yeah, I can. Thanks, Mush."

"Uh... No problem. You okay?"

"Fine, really. Go swim."

"Uh... Okay." Mush shrugged and let himself back into the water, and Blink watched as he swam to the other side of the area, then glanced around for the familiar set of pigtails and tried not to smirk as he called out, "Hey... Trixie!"


	19. Playing the Game

Blink looked around the dining hall, convinced that he was going to be overheard. Of course, looking around like that every few seconds really just made him look more suspicious, but that didn't even dawn on him. After a few minutes, Trixie sauntered up to his table and glanced around, sat down, and began to nibble at her cookie. "Well?" Blink finally demanded.

"Well _what?"_

"Well, you said you'd think about helping me. So... Will you?"

She shrugged. "I guess. You're not gonna do anything too bad, are you?"

"Of course not," Blink said, his voice dripping sincerity. "You get your date with Mush, and in return you... Help me out. And this will be the last prank, really."

"Yeah, right," Trixie scoffed. "And anyway, you pranking _Smurf_ isn't going to make Sarah like you."

"This has nothing to do with Sarah," Blink answered, gritting his teeth slightly.

"Suuuuuuuure it doesn't."

"Are you going to help me or _not?"_ he demanded, irritated. He didn't want to talk about Sarah. He didn't want to _think_ about Sarah. But it seemed like everyone who talked to him wanted to rehash how harshly she'd turned him down.

"Of course. We go to the dance, and the next day you're on."

He glanced around, decided no one was paying attention to them, and held out his hand. "Shake on it. And I swear, if you tell _anyone..."_

"Trust me, I so won't," Trixie answered, and they shook hands quickly and then she dashed off to go pay attention to Mush, who was walking in the door.

Blink sighed slightly and shut his eye. He was going to finish what he and Sarah had started—whether she wanted him to or not. It really did have nothing to do with her, he tried to convince himself. He'd gotten involved in a prank war, and he wasn't just going let Smurf _win._

He'd never take Trixie up on her offer to fix the race. The race was sacred, as far as he was concerned; he was going to prove he was Smurf's superior in every way possible fair and square. But that didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of Trixie's position as her best friend in other ways...

...Now he just had to get Mush to agree to it, a task which wouldn't be easy and he wasn't looking forward to.

*

"No offense, David, but you suck," Jack said, pulling off his bandana and wiping the sweat that had been beading up beneath it off his forehead.

David shrugged. "I told you."

Jack smiled. "Nah, you're not so bad."

"I am, but thanks for being nice."

"Come on." Jack held up his tennis racket. "Let's hit around a few more before dinner."

David laughed a little. "You say that like I've actually been hitting any of them."

"Aw, don't be so hard on yourself, Davey. You hit a few."

"I hit _two,_ Jack. In the past hour."

"So?"

"So I suck. I'm sorry we're playing together, we won't stand a chance."

"So?" Jack repeated. "You're not a sports type guy, Davey. You got lots of other things going for you, so that doesn't even matter." He straightened up and bounced a tennis ball off the court ground a few times, then served gently. David stared in shock at it for a second, then swung wildly before it was anywhere near him, and knocked himself off balance as he did so. The ball bounced two feet away from him, rolled away and hit the fence at the back of the court. He shot a _look_ at Jack. "Okay, hand eye coordination ain't one of your strong points."

"No kidding."

"You wanna try to serve?"

"Uh... _No."_

Jack grinned and reached for another tennis ball. "Anyway, no one cares about sports so much anyway."

"Except my parents, my teachers, and all of the people I go to school with."

"They don't count."

"So who counts?"

"Well," Jack said, tossing the ball up to try a real serve, "me."

David winced away as the ball came near him, tipped it by sheer luck and sent it off at a random angle, back into the net near the ground. "...I hit it," he pointed out.

"Well, that's a start."

The first bell began to ring for dinner, and David sighed. "We should just give up, Jack. There's no point in even playing the first game."

"Sure there is. Come on, you try serving one and then I'll walk you down to the dining hall."

"Okay." David retrieved the tennis ball, now rolling slowly across the court. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He bounced it off the ground once and hit his shoe, reached out to catch it before it got too far away and by a miracle actually did so, but didn't stop to correct himself and catch his balance; instead he chucked it up in the air and swung in a way he hoped vaguely resembled what he'd seen Snitch and Volley, the tennis counselor, do earlier that day.

It didn't work. The main difference mostly was that when Snitch tossed the ball up and swung, he hit the ball and even the times he hit it into the net, it at least went in the right direction. David chucked the ball up and swung wildly; he missed the ball by a country mile and actually managed to lose his grip on his racket, which careened wildly off, roughly in Jack's direction, where he'd been trying to hit the ball. David himself stumbled forward a few steps and then stared kind of in shock as Jack jokingly jumped away from David's flying racket.

They both kind of stood silently for a minute, then Jack broke out laughing. "Davey... If nothin' else, we'll scare everyone into submission. Just put a war cry with that and we've got it made."

David started blushing, but he smiled a little bit as Jack picked up his racket and they exited the tennis courts. They walked side by side down the gently sloping fields and over to the dining hall, where Volley was just posting the competition roster, as Sneakers stood in the doorway, smirking slightly. No sooner than it was tacked up did Jack scan the list and see that sure enough... Their round one match was playing against Sneakers and Snitch.

"How'd practice go, Cowboy?" Sneakers asked mildly.

"Davey's got this surprise move that'll just knock you out, Sneaks." Jack chuckled and David blushed.

"Well, we'll see."

"Yeah, we will." Jack was still smiling, but there was a hint of competitive determination in his voice now.

"Snitch is awfully good," Sneakers added. "And, uh..."

Jack put a protective arm around David. "Stop harassing people and go get a life." Jack paused, then smirked. "And anyway, I beat you last year with _Denton_ as my partner."

"Yeah, well... We'll see." Sneakers stood aside to let them in, and smirked as Jack walked past him.

Inside, David turned to Jack almost indignantly. "Jack, what are you _doing?"_

"What do you mean, what am I doing?"

"I mean... I mean you _know_ there's no way we're gonna win! I can't even hold on to my racket, let alone hit the ball!"

"Well, uh..." Jack shrugged. "It's all in fun, anyway. And I can cover your side of the court a little bit."

"Yeah." David sighed, and glanced over towards the door to the kitchen. Other hoppers were starting to filter in. "I should go... You know."

"Yeah. I'm just gonna grab a drink. I'll take care of your racket, if you want."

"Oh, yeah, uh, sure." David handed Jack his racket and their hands brushed; David felt a blush growing across his cheeks at that, as he turned away towards the kitchen.

Sarah was in charge of putting out groups of dishes again, sported a hairnet and gloves, and looked vaguely suicidal. "Hey," he said, noting that her scowl wasn't her usual slightly discontent pout, but looked genuinely miserable.

"Hi," she answered flatly.

"Um... Are you okay?"

"I'm _dandy,_ just take your plates and leave me alone."

"Uh... Okay." He accepted the stack of plates she shoved at him, but didn't leave. "So... I heard that you and—"

"Swear to god if the next thing you say is 'Blink,' I'll—"

"Okay!" David interrupted. "Sorry, didn't mean to... Piss you off."

"Yeah, well, you did."

"I can tell." He hesitated. "So... uh... Yeah." He shrugged and started to walk off, but she called after him and he paused. "Yeah?"

"David... About Jack..."

He glanced around the kitchen, and shook his head slightly. "Uh... Sarah, I mean this in a really nice way, but he... Um, let's just say you're not his type."

"David—"

"Trust me, okay? He thinks you're really nice and... And all, but just... Um, not his type. And anyway, counselors aren't allowed to have relationships with campers, so—"

"Yeah, whatever." She glared at him, but it was more out of reflex than anger. Her shoulders slumped slightly and she just looked kind of defeated.

David watched her for a second, then walked out to go set the table.

*

Blink caught up with Mush on his way out of dinner, heading up to their cabin to get a sweatshirt before the evening activity started. "So..." he said. "I've been thinking."

"That's never happened before."

Blink laughed and punched Mush's arm lightly. "Anyway, I was just thinking... Trixie's been stalking you all the time, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You know... I, uh, I bet she'd stop if she just _had_ you."

"What?" Mush stopped walking and stared at him.

"Well... Think of it like this. You ask her to the dance, she goes with you, and realizes that you're just another guy and not some kind of... God."

"You've been watching too many after school specials."

"Orrrrr, maybe if you go you'll find out you really like her," he suggested as they started walking again.

"And now you're just _insane."_

"Come on, she's not so bad."

"Um... You do realize she's Smurf's best friend, right?"

"Yeah, well, it's not like _she's_ Smurf. And really, being that psycho's best friend can't be easy, she deserves some kind of reward."

"I," Mush said haughtily, though he was clearly amused, "am not some girl's _reward._ Anyway, what do you care who I go to the dance with?"

"What? I don't care at all. Just curious. Who _are_ you gonna ask?"

"Um, no one," Mush answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And spend the night in hiding, pretending I'm not there."

"Why? Seriously, any of the girls would want to go with you."

"Right. But I don't want to go with any of _them."_

"Yeah, but—"

"Blink, serious, you're acting weird. What's up?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging in what he hoped was an offhand. "I just thought it was a good idea about Trixie and all."

"It wasn't."

"Are you sure? Because I—"

"Blink," Mush interrupted, "the day I go to the dance with Trixie is the day _you_ go to the dance with _Smurf._ It's never gonna happen."

"Of course not! Just..." He coughed. "Are you serious? You'd go to the dance with Trixie if I agreed to go with Smurf?"

"Sure." Mush shrugged as they started up the steps to their cabin. "But that would mean not only would you have to ask Smurf, she'd have to _agree._ And anyway, why would you _want_ to?"

"I wouldn't. Just... You're serious. If I—"

"Yeah, sure. If for some ungodly reason _you_ go with Smurf, then yes, I'll go with Trixie, and meanwhile, _Satan_ will be polishing up his ice skates."

Blink laughed. "Sure. Sure."

Well, now he knew _how_ to get Mush to agree. He waited for Mush to find his sweatshirt and they started outside again. The new question was, how to get Smurf to agree... And really, was it even worthwhile?

A night of being shackled to Smurf. On the other hand, a prank like he'd never have the chance to do again. He turned it over in his mind.

*

David had never felt so useless and vaguely humiliated in his life. As the week crept closer to closing, the tennis tournament began; and the game against Sneakers and Snitch had not gone well. _To put it mildly,_ he scoffed to himself, and glared slightly at Jack.

He had no problem losing. Years of being last picked in gym class, and invariably winding up on the losing team no matter which team was stuck with him, had gotten David accustomed to it; sports and competitions weren't his thing, and he really didn't care that much. But Jack, on the other hand... Jack was not good at losing, and the game brought out a competitive streak in him that David really didn't like.

Sneakers was gloating. David shook his head a little and glanced at Snitch, who shrugged and reached for his water bottle. The two counselors were definitely not pillars of sportsmanship or good role models, when it came to competing.

"Oh, don't feel _too_ bad, Cowboy," Sneakers smirked, as he crossed Jack and David off the roster with an exaggerated X in black marker. "It's not that you _suck,_ it's that... Wait, no, it is that you suck."

Jack grit his teeth. "You're hysterical. _Really."_

"Though I gotta say, you did pretty well, playing both sides of the court like that. For all the good it did you."

"Yeah, _yeah."_ Jack glowered at Sneakers, and then turned to glower slightly at David, who just looked away.

Jack had said he'd help cover David's side a little bit. And instead, he'd run over on to David's half of the court virtually every time the ball was hit there, forcibly shoving David out of the way if necessary. So David had just taken to standing at the back and letting him play one against two. It was like being shoved into right field playing baseball in middle school all over again—he didn't belong in the sport at all, he didn't want to be there, and now that he was there it was purely humiliating. And judging by the looks Jack had shot him, Jack was just as pissed as his baseball teammates had been that he was uncoordinated.

Despite Jack's best effort they'd lost, and Sneakers was clearly making Jack's bad mood worse. David leaned on the fence and waited for them to finish so he could go shower before he had to go set the table for dinner, wanting to at least apologize to Jack, but when Sneakers finally got to the point—"Oh, and Jack? Got ya last."—and then nearly skipped out of the court.

Jack turned to David, who looked away, and there was a pause. Finally, Jack must muttered, "Thanks for all your _help,_ David," and walked off the court too.

David felt his heart sink slightly. That had hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit it did. He stared down at the ground and wordlessly followed Snitch back to their cabin, and Snitch paused to wait for him. "Those two are nuts," he said quietly. "Don't take it too hard."

"Yeah." David shrugged. "I'm really good at losing by now."

"You're not so bad."

David raised an eyebrow, and Snitch shrugged. "Okay, you... Uh, could use some work. But Jack was being kind of a jerk about the whole thing."

"No kidding."

"And anyway, it's just a game."

"Right." David nodded. "Just some stupid game." And mentally he added, _No reason for Jack to get pissed at me, even though he is._

And David just didn't like the thought of Jack being pissed at him. It made him feel slightly sick to his stomach.

*

David spent most of dinner staring out the window and trying to avoid being yelled at by Morris, which didn't work out very well, because Morris _loved_ to yell. He glanced over at Jack a few times, but Jack was always either engrossed in a conversation or was glaring at Sneakers, and despite the many times before it seemed like their minds were linked and they'd catch each others' eyes, Jack never once looked at him. David sighed.

He'd warned Jack, and Jack said it was fine. Jack had seen how bad he was and was fine with it. But despite all of that, Jack was annoyed _anyway._ David moped as he began to clean the table and everyone filtered out of the dining hall. Jack had just been getting over being all awkward, too, when this had happened. They'd both been feeling comfortable again, finally, which was all David had wanted. He wanted to be close to Jack without Jack stuttering every other sentence; he wanted Jack to be comfortable putting an arm around him, or at least just standing _next_ to him.

He had really liked that closeness. After all the times he'd fallen asleep on Jack's shoulder in the infirmary, and the habit Jack had made of casually touching his shoulder and leaning on him, the closeness had felt like second nature. David had never had that with anyone before, not even his few friends from home. Jack just made it feel natural, and like it was the best thing in the world. And they were finally getting it back, and now being robbed of it again because of a stupid _tennis game..._

David dropped the cleaning rag back into the bucket of soapy water and turned to leave, only to find Jack standing in the doorway. David's heart rate abruptly sped up as he walked to the door—not to see Jack, he told himself, but just so he could go to the evening activity.

"Hey," Jack said.

"Hey."

"So... uh... Madball tonight, huh? People always get hurt."

David shrugged. Madball was an all camp soccer match on the big field, played with four teams instead of two, and all four teams were huge and the whole thing was chaos. This would be the third madball game of the summer, and David had already learned to hate it with a passion.

"I'm not really up for playing," Jack continued.

"Yeah." David snorted. "Would want you to accidentally lose twice in one day, huh? I doubt you could handle that."

Jack didn't react to that for a second, and for that second David was smug—then he realized that this was _Jack_ he was talking to, and for all he'd spoken without thinking, and for all he was angry at Jack for being angry at him, he hadn't _meant_ to say anything snippy.

Finally, Jack just shrugged. "I guess I deserved that."

"No kidding."

"Davey, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I just—Sneakers gets to me. I shouldn't have... It was supposed to be fun. And I guess I kinda went too far with, uh, covering your side and all, and... I'm sorry."

David glanced at him, and bit back the rather impolite comment that was his gut reaction. Jack was apologizing, after all. And that meant a lot. "I warned you," David finally said.

"I know. I got carried away." Jack turned to face David. "Just... Davey, you've been so great with me and my, uh... Crush and all. And after all that, I couldn't stand the thought of you being pissed at me, and... God, I'm sorry."

And despite it all, David half-smiled at that. "It's okay, Jack. It... I didn't want you pissed at me either."

"I'm not," Jack promised.

"Me, neither, then."

Jack broke into his giant grin. "Good. That's really... Really _good._ Uh..."

_And we're back to the stuttering,_ David thought, but he just shrugged as they made their way to where the madball game was already going on.

*

At the end of the third day, Sarah and Shakes' bunk was finally fully disinfected, and the two of them moved their things from Murphy One over to Murphy Two; Trixie and Grammar were moved from Two over to One, and the girls' counselors hoped that would be the end of everything.

They finally were once again able to gather with everyone else during the pre-curfew hangout time in the dining hall. Smurf was in the process of eating a muffin, drinking a cup of coffee, and explaining how very glad she was she wouldn't be in charge of cleaning the dirty coffee mug when Blink, gritting his teeth, waded into the conversation.

Smurf glared at him. "Can I _help_ you?" she finally demanded.

"Yes, actually." He tried not to scowl at her. He had to try to be _nice._ She was under no such restraints, and was obviously glaring back at him.

"Well?"

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, and nodded to the porch. "Outside? _Please?"_

"What?" Smurf asked. "What's going on?"

"Smurf..." He sighed. "You know what? Never mind. Forget it."

"Wait—"

"Seriously, just forget—"

"Fine!" she snapped, and refilled her coffee mug. "Just tell me... Whatever."

"Okay, but..." He trailed off. Changing his mind was so _tempting._ But this was for a good cause. And he could put up with Smurf for the ultimate payoff, he decided. It would be worth it. So they walked out on to the porch and she eyed him suspiciously while he tried to figure out how to phrase this.

"..._Well?"_ she repeated.

"Okay, okay! Just..." He coughed a little. "Look, this is weird."

"No kidding."

_"But,_ I was talking to Mush earlier today. And here's the thing." He lowered his voice, making it up as he went, hoping he sounded at least vaguely like he was telling the truth. "I think Mush is starting to actually like Trixie."

Smurf laughed. "Uh... No, he isn't."

"He _is,_ though. Trust me, he's my best friend. But he doesn't want people to think he... After all the insanity with her stalking him, he doesn't want to look like he _actually_ likes her unless he's sure he's not hallucinating or anything."

"If you say so." She sounded skeptical, but he continued anyway.

"So he was thinking he might ask her to the dance. _But_ he doesn't just want to... To ask. He wants to make it look like he had to be dragged into it incase things go badly."

"So?"

_"So,_ he said he'd ask Trixie to the dance if..." Blink groaned. "I can not believe I'm saying this. He so owes me. But... He said he'd ask Trixie if you'd go with me, so he could say he was only doing it because I was."

Smurf stared at him, then started laughing again. "You're _hysterical,_ Blink, really. So what did you actually want?"

"That's actually it."

"No, really."

"No, _really._ I'm not joking."

"And you actually agreed to ask me?"

"He's my best friend." Blink shrugged.

"You must _really_ like rejection. After Sarah, you ask _me._ "

"I actually _don't_ like it so much, but I told Mush I'd _try._ So, having tried, I'm done." He started back towards the door, then paused. "Anyway, Mush thought maybe because she's _your_ best friend, you might want to help her out. But I told him you'd never, ever say yes."

"Hey!" she objected. "You make me sound like some kind of terrible person, for not wanting to spend the night dealing some one eyed idiot."

"Well, the thought of going with some mentally unbalanced dwarf didn't exactly appeal to me _either._ I knew I had nothing to worry about."

"Hey!" she repeated again, and it was either the fact that she couldn't stand Blink being right about something, or a genuine urge to help out a friend, or both, but she found herself saying, "Look, if it's _that_ important to them..."

Blink waited, trying not to smirk.

"..._Fine,"_ she snapped. "But don't think this means I don't hate you!"

"Ditto!" he answered, and walked back inside, shaking his head a little, not quite sure how he'd pulled that off. He sat down next to Mush, and poked him in the side.

"What?" Mush demanded.

"So, that thing I was talking about earlier?"

"Huh?"

"Well... Guess who my date to the dance is?"

Mush stared at him. "Oh no. No. Oh no no no no no, you did not..."

"Come on. It's just one night. And you said—"

"I didn't know you were actually going to do something insane like ask Smurf out!"

"I did_ not_ ask Smurf out! I... asked her to the dance, which doesn't even count as a real date anyway, I mean, this is camp."

"Blink..."

"Come on. It's only one night."

"I don't believe..." Mush groaned, and glanced around to where Smurf was resuming her previous conversation, then yelled, "Smurf! Please tell me Blink did _not_ just ask you out!"

"He did," she called back.

"Please _please_ tell you didn't say yes..."

Smurf scowled. "Announce it to the whole world, why don't you?"

Mush's eyes widened, and then he turned to Blink, as everyone else turned to stare at Smurf, who glowered back at the entire room. But Mush just shook his head in disbelief. "I hate you."

"Come on."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Blink grinned. "Thanks, buddy. I'm sure we'll both be utterly miserable."

"I wasn't joking. I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah..."

As Mush grudgingly forced himself to get up and actually ask Trixie—two minutes later, Blink knew she'd said yes by the amount of high pitched squealing coming from that side of the room—Blink glanced around the dining hall and saw Sarah sitting off by herself, looking utterly miserable. He wanted to get up and talk to her, to tell her it would be all right...

...But he knew better, because even if it was a nice, platonic gesture she'd still bite his head off. She'd made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him at all, so he looked away and over to where Trixie was literally jumping up and down, arms wrapped around Mush (who looked like he wanted to kill himself), as David was walking over to talk to Sarah.

David sat down quietly. "Hey," he mumbled.

She didn't look over at him. "Hey," she answered flatly.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit... Down."

"I hate it here." She shrugged. "And everyone hates me, and I just want to go home."

"Come on, it's not _so_ bad..."

"Maybe not for you. People _like_ you. But no one here likes me at all... I just want to go _home."_

David hesitated, then said, "Have you tried asking Mom and Dad?"

"I wrote to them about it. They just wrote back that I should stick it out and it would get better. That was a week and a half ago. _Before_ anyone covered my stuff in ants or I had to work in the kitchen or deal with Blink. They just don't get it."

"Oh." David paused. "That sucks... We can call home in a few days, though, right?"

"Yeah. So? They're not going to listen to me."

"They might... I could ask them."

"Why would they listen to _you?"_

"Because." David shrugged. "I just know how Mom's mind works. If I admit that _I_ like it here, when I was the real reason we all got sent, she'll be so happy she'll agree to _anything._ "

"Yeah, right."

"Worth a shot, though, right?"

"I guess."

"I mean, if you want me to. I'm not trying to get rid of you, you just... Seem miserable."

"Yeah. David..."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I dunno." He laughed. "Maybe I just want you to stop cramping my style."

She smiled a little bit. "You know I don't say things like that about you at school."

"I know."

"I stand up for you, when people call you a nerd. Sometimes... I try to."

"I know, Sarah. I appreciate it."

"Even though you _are_ a nerd," she said, but she was smiling a tiny bit.

_"You're_ the nerd now," he answered.

"I guess I am."

"I'll ask Mom and Dad for you," he promised.

"Thanks, Davey."

He got up and went back to the table where he'd been sitting before, where Race was attempting to teach him to play poker. Race raised an eyebrow. "What?" David demanded.

"Something very odd is going on tonight. It's like there's something in the air."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you were just willingly nice to your sister, Blink asked out Smurf, and Mush asked out Trixie. Something very, _very_ odd is going on. I think maybe my mom put drugs in the water or something."

David laughed. "You're paranoid," he accused. "Now, see, if I had managed to pull off that tennis game, _then_ you'd know something was up..."


	20. At the Hop

Trixie liked sparkles. She really, _really_ liked sparkles. Smurf rolled her eyes and sat on her bed, while Trixie finished shimmying into her glitter coated dress and applying body glitter and glittery lip gloss.

"You know, you look kind of like a disco ball," Smurf commented, as Trixie turned around to show off. The way the light caught her and gleamed off the layers of sparkles, it kind of _was_ reminiscent of a disco ball.

She scowled. "At least I'm dressing up."

"Good for you."

"Oh, come _on."_ Trixie flopped down on the bed next to Smurf. "You could dress up a _little."_

"I _could._ Why would I _want_ to?"

"You have a date." Trixie grinned and poked her in the side, and Smurf smacked her hand away.

"And _you_ owe me a favor, and I am not ever, ever going to dress up for that... _Person._ It's not like I'm trying to impress him or anything."

"But you could at least attempt to look nice."

"Ha!"

"Come on." Trixie pouted. "I'll do your hair."

"You mean put it in pigtails like yours?"

"Shut up." But Trixie was grinning. "I know you brought a skirt with you, come on. It'll be fun."

Smurf rolled her eyes and sighed. This was the start of what she was sure would be a very long night.

*

"Do I look okay?" Mush asked, regarding himself critically in the mirror.

"Yes, you look fine," Blink answered, not actually looking up from the ceiling, as he was lying on his back on his bunk.

"You didn't even _look_."

"You always look fine. And Trixie will love you _anyway."_

"And to think, yesterday you were so excited about this." Mush snorted a little bit. _"You_ should dress up."

"Ha!" Blink answered, finally sitting up. "Why should I dress up for that harpy?"

_"You_ asked her out, and you made me ask out Trixie. You should suffer."

"Bite me."

"This was all your idea." Mush turned around to face him, reached down and hauled him into a sitting position. "Come on, you're making me go. Let's get you all prettied up."

"I am not dressing up for Smurf!"

"Yes," Mush said firmly, "you really are."

Blink scowled, as Mush began poking through his dresser drawer.

*

"So," David asked Jack, as he finished cleaning up from dinner, "what does the rest of camp do while the juniors and seniors have their dance?"

"We all watch movies."

"What?"

"All of the other campers and counselors get together in the field, and they put out a big portable projection screen and we all watch Disney movies."

David finished wiping up the table. "Sounds fun. Better than the dance, anyway."

"The dance can be fun. You should actually try _dancing."_

"Jack, you saw what happened when I tried to play tennis. Trust me, dancing is out of the question."

"It's just for fun."

"I can't dance."

"Everyone says that."

"No, I _really_ can't dance."

Jack gave him a bemused look, and as David dropped the rag into the bucket and turned around, Jack took his arm and stepped close to him. "Dancing isn't so hard," he promised, putting a hand on David's waist.

"Jack!" David yelped, as Jack began to move slowly. He felt his face turning bright red. "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you to dance, come on. This foot." Jack paused, then kicked one of David's legs lightly. "_That_ foot, Davey, move with me."

David swallowed hard and moved his foot awkwardly, and tried to put his arms around Jack like they were dancing. But for all Jack seemed to know how to move, even without music, David just didn't get it. He stepped on Jack's foot. Then he stepped on his own foot and tripped. Jack caught him and they started again, with David on the wrong foot again, moving stiffly and awkwardly.

"Jack..." David groaned. "I can't dance."

"No, you can't," Jack agreed, stopping his movement. "But you should dance anyway. I know you're just going to stand by the wall and pretend you aren't there."

"Can you blame me?" David pulled away from Jack. "I don't know any of the girls except the ones in the theater, and they scare me."

"They scare everyone," Jack agreed. "Mush and Trixie... Wow."

"Blink and Smurf," David added.

"Insanity." Jack sounded amused. "You should go get ready."

"I wish I didn't have to go," David sighed. "I hate dances."

"Go on. You'll be fine."

David shrugged. "I've never had fun at a dance, _ever."_

"Well, maybe you will this time."

"Doubt it."

"Now that's just a negative attitude talking."

"Your impression of my mother is amazing, Jack."

Jack laughed. "Well, they did send you here so you'd learn to get along with people, right? So go on to the dance and have _fun._"

"I don't have fun at dances."

"Not if you don't _think_ you will. Just relax and... Look at it like this. At least you know you'll be having more fun that Mush or Blink."

David chuckled. "Yeah, but I could probably fall on my face and still have more fun than those two tonight."

"So if you're not having fun," Jack reasoned, "just make fun of _them._ I know you're good at making fun of people."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, you are." Jack gave him a gentle shove towards the door. "You should go get dressed now."

David rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm going. But I'm going to complain about this all day tomorrow!"

Jack laughed and shooed him away, then sighed.

He wanted David to have fun at the dance. He wanted David to dance and laugh and being the belle—well, beau—of the ball. He just wished he could be there too, dancing and laughing _with_ him. But he was a counselor now, and anyway, it wasn't like David would want to dance with _him._

*

The dance was set up in the theater, with all the benches moved to the sides of the room and the DJ on the stage. The DJ looked oddly familiar—it wasn't until Race went to talk to him that David realized he was probably one of Racetrack's many older brothers. He was clearly and amateur, but at least was playing decent music.

Mush was wearing all black, with nice slacks, and a tight sweater. He'd debated a dress shirt with a tie, but instead foisted the tie on Blink, and to Blink it felt like nothing so much as a noose. Mush had forced him into a pair of khakis, which were the nicest pants he'd brought with him, and a blue button up shirt, which he wasn't entirely sure _how_ it had ended up in his suitcase, but he suspected his father had slipped in after reading that campers should have one set of formal clothes.

He was clearly unhappy about his outfit, though not nearly as unhappy as he was about his date.

The girls arrived at the theater only a few minutes after the boys. Trixie skipped over to Mush, her glitter almost blinding, and Smurf sullenly glared at Blink, who kind of raised an eyebrow. He'd never seen her wear a skirt before, but someone had clearly forced _her_ to dress up, too. Her silver skirt was probably intended to be a mini, but she was short enough that it hung almost to her knees, and she was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt with the Beatles logo on the front, her hair pulled back in a clip so that only a few curls escaped.

She was positively _scowling._

He rolled his eye. "Hey," he finally said.

"Hi."

"So—"

"So let's see how little we can actually _talk_ to each other tonight."

"Agreed."

They stood side by side at the back of the room for a few minutes, neither one moving or talking. Blink watched as Trixie dragged Mush out on to the dance floor, and he turned and glared at the two in the back before plastering on a fake smile and dancing.

"He looks miserable," Smurf finally mused. "So much for liking her."

"Yeah. So much for that."

"I'm getting punch." Smurf wandered away, and Blink leaned against the wall, glad she was gone. The song ended and Mush managed to momentarily escape from his date and stalk to the back of the room.

"You. Have. A. Date." He pointed at Smurf, who was drinking punch and talking to two of the other girls.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Look. I'm putting myself through this because you _made_ me. So here's what's going to happen: you are going to go over there and talk to her. You are going to be nice. You are going to tell her she looks pretty. And then you two will dance. Or I will _hurt you."_

"You're bitter."

"Yes, I am!" he snapped, and then saw Trixie was walking back towards him. He shoved Blink forward. "You go _now."_

"Fine!" Blink snapped, then paused. "You really think she looks pretty?"

"Just go! ...Hi, Trixie." Mush scowled after Blink, as Blink grudgingly trudged over to the punch and potato chips.

"Mush says I have to be nice to you," he greeted her.

"Poor baby." She finished her punch and dropped the cup in the trash. _"You_ asked _me,_ so don't blame me."

"Yeah, well you said yes."

"For Trixie's sake!" she snapped.

"Look," Blink tried, "we're here. We might as well make the best of it."

"Says _you."_

"You really want to be miserable all night?"

"No, but—"

"Truce," Blink interrupted. "For just tonight."

"What?"

"For just tonight _I'll_ stop being meant to _you, _and _you_ stop being psychotic."

"I am not psychotic!" she yelled, stomping her foot.

He raised an eyebrow. She scowled.

"Truce?" he finally said again.

_"Fine."_

"Lovely." He rolled his eye, then took a deep breath. "So... You look—"

"Shut up," she interrupted.

"You look _nice,_ I was going to say!"

"Oh." She paused. "Yeah, well... So do you, I guess."

"Thanks a lot."

"Bite me." She paused, then grinned. "You really think I look nice?"

"Yeah, sure." He shrugged. "You don't usually wear skirts."

"I'm at _camp."_

"So what, you wear them all the time at home?"

"Well..." She paused. "No, but that's not the point."

"I knew it." He smirked. "I've never seen you dressed like a girl before."

"It's not like I dress like a boy. I dress... Androgynously."

"What?"

"This is 2003, Blink. Shorts and a t-shirt is not a male-only outfit."

"Yeah, but it's not _not_ a boy outfit."

"Well, it's not _not_ not a boy outfit."

"It... What did that last one _mean?"_

"Honestly, I don't even know."

He laughed a little. "Well, you don't look like a boy, either way."

"You saying I usually do?" she asked defensively.

"No, you, uh, wear a bikini sometimes at the beach. That's not boy like."

"I—"

"Not that I _look,_ or anything," he added quickly. "I just happen to remember that."

"Whatever." She paused. "You have a nice tan."

"From sailing all the time," he agreed. "You..."

"I'm pasty. I never tan." She made a face. "I just freckle."

He squinted down at her. "Hey, you do," he agreed. "I never noticed before... You're too short, I couldn't even see."

"Shut up," she answered.

He did so for a minute, then reached for a handful of potato chips. "So..."

"Yeah."

He coughed. "This is weird."

"Yeah."

"Talking to you, I mean."

"I know what you meant, dorkface."

"Dorkface. See, that's better. That I'm used to."

"Please. Usually my insults are much better than that, I'm just being _nice_ because we have a truce on."

"Yeah, yeah. If insulting me is how you're nice, a guy can't win with you."

"Oh, deal with it. Dorkface."

"Dweeb," he answered. "_Short_ dweeb."

"I'm _not_ short, I'm..." She paused. "Tiny and adorable. So there."

"Tiny is right. Bite sized."

"Shut _up!"_ she pouted. "I'm not _that_ short."

He didn't say anything.

She pouted more, over dramatically crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot again.

And he _smiled._ He wasn't sure why that was. "Tiny and adorable," he repeated indulgently. "Anyway."

 

 

"You mean dance?"

"I guess I mean that." Blink shrugged.

She gave him a strange look. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," she finally answered.

"Why's that?" He could think of lots of reasons, chief among them the fact that they hated each other, but what she answered never even occurred to him.

"Uh, Blink... How tall are you?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Maybe five ten?"

"And how tall am I?"

He laughed. "Not very."

She mock-scowled, but that had been her point. "Don't you think we'd look a little ridiculous?"

"The thought of us dancing at _all_ is a little ridiculous," he answered. "And anyway, I could step on you and never even see."

"Oh—"

"Bite me?" he interrupted, and she scowled for real this time.

"Yes, _that."_

But they were saved from arguing about it by the DJ, who put on a slow song and announced in the universal voice that all DJs seemed to have, "Well, now, why don't we get this party started? Not many of you are dancing, so why doesn't the couple that's out there kick off a snow ball dance? I'm sure you all know the rules—I stop the music and they both chose a new partner, and when I stop it again, everyone dancing chooses someone new, until we've got _everyone_ on the dance floor! Okay, let's go."

He started the music up again and Trixie resumed dancing enthusiastically; now with everyone's eyes on him, Mush perked up a little, because as much as he disliked Trixie he liked being the center of attention. But they only had danced for half a minute when the music stopped. Trixie sulked a little, clearly not _wanting_ to change partners, but Mush gratefully turned to the crowd and grabbed the nearest girl, Dreamer, who looked kind of startled and then broke into a grin. Trixie pulled Swifty in and they began to dance, then stop, and everyone changed partners again. Smurf was eventually forced into dancing by Itey, and Blink by Glitz, and so the dance continued.

David hung back awkwardly, hoping no one would see him and make him join the group of dancers, but had no luck; eventually a very apologetic looking Grammar grabbed his hand. "I hate dancing," she mumbled.

"Me too. I apologize in advance for stepping on your foot."

"What?" she asked, then, "Ow! Oh."

"Sorry," he said again.

She laughed a little. "It's okay. The song is ending."

And sure enough, the DJ forced everyone into a round of applause for each other, told them all to keep up the good work, and as soon as the forced dance was over, everyone retreated back away from the dance floor. David found himself sitting on one of the benches at the side of the room, still next to Grammar. "So..." he said, wishing he had the ability to small talk at all.

"This whole thing is pretty dumb," she answered.

"Uh... Yeah." He nodded. "I don't even know any girls. Your name is... Grammar, right?"

"Yeah." She gave him a critical look. "Your hair is messed up and your shoe is coming untied."

"Oh. Um." He ran a hand through his hair, though that really just skewed his curls worse, and leaned down to fix his shoelace. "Better?" he asked.

"Not the hair."

"Sorry."

She shrugged.

He didn't groan, but he wanted to; he didn't try and run away, but he wanted to. It wasn't that Grammar didn't seem nice—if a little bizarre—but mostly he just didn't know how to talk to strangers. _Why can't everyone be as easy to talk to as Jack?_ he wondered, and glanced around the room.

Grammar glanced around the room as well, sighed, and commented, "There's not enough light in here to read."

"No kidding."

She dug into her purse and pulled out a thick volume that David immediately recognized as one of the Tolkein novels, as she slid down the bench to try and catch a little light coming in from outside, and flipped to a bookmark. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "I... I, uh, never could get into that series."

"Why not?"

"It... Just, too much Elvish poetry and pages of people walking."

"That's a rather shallow analysis."

"Right." He shrugged. "But that's why."

"How old were you when you tried reading it?"

"I dunno... Eleven or twelve."

"Well, maybe _that's_ why. You should try again." She shoved the book at him.

"What, now?"

She shrugged. He laughed and handed it back. "Maybe some time when there's more reading light," he said.

"Suit yourself." She opened the book and began to read again. David leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Well, he'd danced, sort of; and he'd actually tried talking to someone. The first hadn't been by choice and the second hadn't worked out very well, but at least he'd tried.

He felt like with his mission accomplished, he should be allowed to just ditch the whole thing. But he'd never ditched anything in his entire life, so instead he just waited on the bench for the thing to end, and wondered if Jack was having a better time watching movies with the little kids.

The dance wore on.

It was quite awhile before Mush managed to convince Trixie to take a break from dancing and sit on one of the benches, and by that point he looked like he was torn between killing himself or killing someone else. Trixie was still hanging on his arm, quite literally; the other girls from the theater were glaring at her jealously. And Mush had been attempting to be polite all night, but really this was just getting more and more aggravating.

He'd never been Trixie's biggest fan. She was a decent enough actress, and he figured if she hadn't stalked him they _might_ have gotten along. She was a tad bit too bubbly and cheerful for his taste, but if he didn't have to spent _too_ much time with her, that would have been fine. But he was never given that option, so instead of being a friendly aquaintence, he was coming to regard her more as a mortal enemy. Glaring around the room, he turned to pick out Blink, to ensure that Blink was as miserable as he was. That was the deal, after all.

But Blink was standing next to Smurf, poking her in the side, and she was giggling and trying rather ineffectively to swat his hand away. They were both smiling, though, and from the way it looked across the room, the poking was some kind of _flirting._

Mush shook his head. That was utterly unacceptable.

"Trixie," he finally said, prying his arm free from her grasp (only to have her throw her arms around his waist) "is there something wrong with that picture?"

She looked around to see where he was pointing, then giggled. "They like each other!" she squealed. "Just like _us,_ isn't that great!"

He bit back his groan. "Uh... _Yeah._ But doesn't that strike you as... you know, weird?"

She shrugged. "Well, it's not that weird. I told her she should dress up. She said she didn't want to but she secretly loves it."

"Yeah, but those two..."

"It probably won't last past the race tomorrow," Trixie pointed out. "And anyway, whatever Blink has planned, I bet this is part of it."

That caught Mush slightly off guard. "Planned?" he asked.

"He didn't tell you? He's got some prank up his sleeve, he's been planning it for a few days. He wanted me to help him, and I said only if he'd get you to ask me out." She squeezed his waist tighter. "And he _did!_ I didn't think he could do it!"

"He..." Mush's facial expression darkened considerably, as he watched his best friend laugh at something Smurf said, and she half-grinned back at him. He was setting up for some _prank_ and in the process he was having _fun_ and had unwittingly made Mush _miserable._ "Excuse me," Mush said after a minute of staring across the room at the unlikely couple. "I need to have a word with my friend."

"Hurry back!" Trixie cooed as Mush disentangled himself again, and strode purposefully across the room.

"—I _like_ blue!" Smurf was saying.

"I don't dislike blue, I just wouldn't dye my hair—"

"Hiya, _Blink,"_ Mush interrupted. Blink looked up at him abruptly, coughed a little, and composed himself.

"Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"I'm going to kill you. That's all."

"Well, that's nothing new." He poked Smurf in the side again. "See, supportive best friends."

"Oh, shut up," she laughed, and Mush could only assume this was a reference to some conversation they'd had. They'd been having _conversations._ And enjoying it.

"Yeah," Mush said. "Death. And pain."

"You okay?" Blink asked, and Mush glowered.

"She's shedding sparkles on me."

"I told her not to use so many," Smurf noted. "She never listens, though."

Mush ignored her. "So, Blink... How about that race tomorrow, hmmm?"

Blink blinked. "That's tomorrow?"

"Mmmhmmm. Ian's your partner, right? Have you practiced with him?" Mush smiled devilishly. "Enough to beat your _date?"_

"Of course," he scoffed.

"I don't think so!" Smurf snapped.

"Oh, come on." Blink smirked down at her. "I won twice last summer—"

"And that's got _nothing_ to do with tomorrow!"

"Well, we'll settle that tomorrow, _won't_ we?" he challenged.

"When I wipe that smirk off your face and leave you standing in the sand while I'm kicking your ass? Yes. We Will."

"Ha!" he scoffed.

"Ha?" she'll repeated. "We'll see who has the last laugh _tomorrow."_

"Bring it on, tiny."

"Oh that is _it!"_ she yelled, and they were attracting looks now. "The truce is _off_ and I hope you choke."

"The feeling is totally mutual."

Mush smiled contentedly. His work was done. He'd save the personal revenge on Blink for later, and made his way back to Trixie, who looked a little started.

"That wasn't very nice," she pointed out.

"But so worthwhile." He discovered his mood had improved vastly, and the yelling from the other side of the room hadn't quieted any. "Want to dance?" he asked generously. She squealed and threw her arms around him, and though he regretted asking, all he needed to do was listen for the dulcet tones of Smurf shrieking and then he didn't mind so much.

Meanwhile, up on the stage, Racetrack was leaning on the table where the DJ equipment was set up, talking to his brother, who was listening with one ear while keeping the other tuned into his turntables. "Mark..." Race mused. "Did Mom let you play in the camper-counselor tournaments when you were a camper?"

"Yeah, sure," Mark answered, hitting play on one CD and ejecting another. He ignored Race for a few seconds, listening to the music in his headphones, fast forwarding to the track he wanted and cuing it up, then turned to Race.

"What about the sailing races?"

"Yeah... What's up?"

Race frowned slightly. "She won't let me. She says me being her son gives me some sort of advantage because of the judges..."

"Yeah, they work for her. So? She always let the rest of us."

"That's what I thought. I was _supposed_ to be Blink's partner, but she told me I couldn't participate."

"That _sucks,"_ Mark agreed.

"Yeah..." Race trailed off. "What was your curfew in high school?"

"What?"

"Your—"

 

"Mom treats me different than everyone else," Race finally said, shrugging a little. "She breathes down my neck about everything, all the time. I'm not allowed out past _ten_."

"Ten's not so bad for a weeknight—"

"On weekends."

"That's insane."

"That's what I said. Not that she cared what I said."

"Hmmm." Mark shrugged. "Honestly, Tony, it's just 'cause you're the baby."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's true. You're sixteen, and you're the last kid she's going to have, so of course she's a little... Over protective."

"But that's not fair. I'm _way_ more responsible than you were. Or Chris, or Paul, or—"

"I know, you're the best kid ever," Mark agreed. "That's Mom for you."

Race sighed. "I guess it is."

"You tried talking to her about it?" he suggested.

"Uh... No."

"Maybe you should."

"Did you ever try talking to Mom when you had a problem with her?" Race asked.

"Well, no," Mark admitted. "But when I was sixteen, she wouldn't have listened to me."

"So what makes you think she _will_ listen to _me?"_

"I don't, really, it just seemed like a brotherly thing to suggest. Shouldn't you be dancing with some girl to set a good example for the rest of camp?"

"Drop dead," Race answered.

"I'll make them snowball again, and I'll make _you_ start it."

"I hate you."

"Awwwww, what kind of thing is that to say to your brother?"

Race rolled his eyes and walked away, jumping off the stage, glancing over at the table that held the remnants of snacks and punch. Smurf and Blink had been staked out there all night, and he'd been as shocked as everyone else that they seemed to be enjoying themselves, but while he'd been talking with his brother they'd started yelling at each other, which he probably should have seen coming.

He thought about attempting to break that up, but decided that definitely wasn't worthwhile. Instead, he wandered over to where David was sitting, bored. "Well, you look like you're having the time of your life."

"Oh, I am. Can't you tell?"

Race laughed. "You're having a better time than some people," he pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah. This sucks."

"Too anti-social?"

"And I can't dance on top of that."

"Have you ever tried?"

David glared at him. "Yes," he finally said. "And it didn't work out."

"Okay, just asking," Race said quickly. "So..."

David hesitated. "Race, would anyone notice if I... Disappeared?"

"Probably not," Race said, glancing around.

David bit his lip, then stood up. "In that case, I'm out of here."

"Have fun, Dave."

David glanced around, slightly paranoid, then slipped out of the theater. Race watched him go and then sat down, but had to get up immediately. True to his word, Race's older brother was forcing another snowball dance on the group, and forcing Race to kick it off, and just grinned at the pissed off look from his younger brother.

*

It was much cooler out than it had been in the crowded theater, and David was glad he'd brought a sweater with him. He pulled it on and hesitantly walked out towards the athletic fields, where a crowd of campers and counselors were watching _Aladdin,_ somewhere near the beginning. David stood at the back, hoping no one would turn around and notice him, until he saw Jack a few rows of people from the back. Most had brought out blankets or sleeping bags and were lounging on them, and Jack had a large blanket which he was sharing with a few of the campers from his bunk.

Quietly, David picked his way forward and tapped Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up, startled, then grinned at seeing David. "Did you dance?" Jack asked.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Well, a little bit."

"Did you—"

"Jack, come on. I hate dances."

Jack paused for a second, then patted the blanket next to where he was sitting. "Come on, then," Jack said, smiling.

David smiled back and sat down, leaned against Jack for a little added warmth. Jack put a friendly arm around his shoulder and they settled in to watch the movie. David didn't remember when he'd felt so content.


	21. Hook, Line and Sinker

Despite it being a Sunday morning, and thus the one day a week for campers to sleep in, the boys in Pentland were all wide awake. Racetrack had been allowed to miss church this week so he could watch the races (though not participate, which he kept claiming didn't bother him—it meant he could take bets on the races instead), and everyone else was being dragged down to the beach to watch.

David sighed as he got dressed, knowing that there was no way the shower would be free before the race; he'd had last dibs on it for sleeping latest, as usual, so he had nothing to do but sit around and wait.

Until Blink, currently in the shower, started screaming bloody murder. The door banged open abruptly, and he stumbled out, dripping wet, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist. Everyone stared, except for Mush, who managed to hold a shocked look for a few seconds, then cracked up.

"What did you—" Blink started, but Mush reached for something on his bed and held it up: the tube of IceyHot he'd gotten from Triage the previous week.

"That was for setting me up last night," he answered.

Blink glared at him. "I hate you," he answered, and stomped back into the bathroom.

David shook his head a little. Sometimes, things just got too surreal for words.

*

The wind was rather chilly when everyone finally was grouped on the beach. Fewer people were racing than David had expected; a lot had done the camper-counselor tennis tournament instead, and a lot of campers didn't want to compete in either. The beach was crowded, though; even though only a handful were racing, a much larger number gathered to watch.

David shivered and wished he'd brought a sweatshirt, but he hadn't realized how cold it would be down by the lake, so all he could do was wrap his arms around himself and look at the course that had been laid out. Two canoes were anchored in place a considerable distance apart; Irish sat in one and Dutchy in the other. Gunwale, the head of the unit, was standing with a an air horn, ready to wade into the water as the starting point. David listened to what he was saying, announcing the rules (which mostly consisted of "don't cheat," though David didn't know _how_one would cheat) and explaining the course: assembling the boat, heading out diagonally to the right, looping around Irish's canoe, then to the left around Dutchy's, another lap around Irish and Dutchy, then back to the shore and disassembling the boat.

The wind picked up again and David began shivering, until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up, but smiled as he saw Jack, who without actually speaking a word shrugged out of his camp logo sweatshirt and handed it to David, who handed it back. "Jack, you'll freeze—"

"I wore a long sleeved shirt underneath," Jack pointed out, and shoved it insistently at David. Apparently satisfied that Jack had the good sense to wear a warm enough shirt, David smiled and slipped the sweatshirt on. It was warm from Jack's body heat and David noted it had the slight scent of horses. Like Jack did at the end of the day. It was kind of nice to be surrounded by that, even if he _did_ hate horses. The sweatshirt felt like Jack.

He gave Jack a grateful smile as the contestants in the first round prepared. They were the older campers, as there weren't enough sailboats for everyone to compete at once, and this way there was a split between the older, more experienced campers, and the younger, newer ones.

Blink was the only entrant from David's bunk, paired with Ian, who was there in all of his bleached blond surfer glory, complete with backwards hat and pierced nipple. David felt himself blushing slightly as he watched Ian kick his sandals off, stumble a little in the sand, and turn to Blink with a thumbs up. Blink rolled his eye. Ian was good with sailing—he'd done some at home—but was not well known for his coordination. Really, Blink had wanted Mush to be his partner the way they had in previous years, but Mush had decided at the last minute to do the camper-counselor tennis competition instead, and campers had to choose between that or the sailing races. And then Race had said he'd do it, but his mother forced him to drop out, and Blink was left scrambling for a partner. But Ian wasn't bad, just a little clumsy.

Itey and Snoddy had the fun job of setting up between Blink's boat and Smurf's boat, where and she and Trixie stood waiting. It involved a lot of teeth gritting and trying to get Blink and Smurf to stop taunting each other, which was no easy thing. But Gunwale turned to glare at them and they settled for just mumbling to themselves and glaring.

Finally, all the groups—there were five total—were ready to go. Gunwale waved out to Dutchy and Irish, who both waved back to indicate they were ready, and he took a few steps into the lake (and grumbled about the cold water under his breath), and began to count down from five.

The crowd counted with him: "Four... Three..."

Blink was spasmodically clenching and unclenching a fist, and Smurf was grinning like a maniac, playing with the braid she'd pulled her hair into to keep it out of her way.

"Two..."

And the air horn went off, and with that, there was a flurry of motion. David couldn't _quite_ follow it, because he had no idea what setting up the sailing skiffs entailed, but Smurf and Trixie seemed to get it into the water fast enough—but only because Ian slid on the sand again and fell, had to get up and get back to work (no easy task with Blink yelling at him). They pushed into the water third and everyone seemed to be yelling at everyone else; Trixie dropped the rudder into place while Smurf began to fiddle with the sail, still enjoying a comfortable but shrinking lead.

Blink angrily pointed out a course as they finally got the rudder into place on his boat, almost directly at Smurf's skiff, but by the time he would have been close enough to actually touch her, her boat was rounding the first canoe. Blink had pulled into a close second and they were neck and neck as they adjusted for the new angle and made their way across the stretch to the second canoe.

From the shore, David could half-see and half-hear them yelling, but the sound was lost to the wind and the people yelling next to him. Race did indeed seem to be taking bets; David had no idea who he was favoring, but was certain that Race would come out ahead in the end.

Blink finally pulled into the lead as they neared the first canoe again; David was pretty sure he could hear Smurf shrieking in rage, but it was still hard to make out. When he squinted he could see that she was certainly yelling wildly, though, and the smirk on Blink's face was unmistakable.

Both boats cut around the canoe, now far ahead of the next nearest rival, and it seemed like on the straight path there wasn't much Smurf could do to catch up. Blink remained barely a few feet ahead of her, and she grabbed the handle of the rudder from Trixie as they approached the second canoe and cut sharply to try and get a lead around the corner. It didn't quite work; her boat ended up banging against the back end of Blink's and they both wobbled dangerously.

Blink's righted itself, he safely made the turn, and headed back towards shore.

Smurf's boat continued to rock violently, and actually rocked straight into Dutchy's canoe. Trixie tumbled into the water and surfaced thanks to her life jacket, but the time they lost getting her back on to the boat and getting back into motion definitely ended the competition. The race became neck and neck between Smurf's boat and Itey's boat, but there was no way either one would catch up with Blink and Ian, who were now safely pulling up the rudder.

Blink placed first, and Smurf barely managed to pull in second, still yelling furiously.

"Stand back," Race mumbled, barely loudly enough for David to hear him. "I think she's going to explode."

Jack chuckled, then realized that as a counselor he shouldn't be laughing at that, and turned it into clearing his throat at the last second. Which made David laugh, because he knew Jack well enough to know what Jack was doing.

Smurf had stopped yelling and was just glaring at Blink, who was grinning and accepting congratulations, and smirking. There was really no other way to describe his facial expression—he was smug, and was making it very, very clear to Smurf that he was smug.

Her response was a scowl and shaking off any congratulations for second place, but this made three races in a row where she'd placed second to Blink, and by now most people knew better than to try and congratulate her anyway. She crossed her arms and glared, and finally she and Blink were both shoved towards each other to shake hands, Trixie and Ian trailing behind them nervously, not sure how this handshaking thing would go. Because Smurf was anything but a good loser—and Blink was making it clear he wasn't a great winner, either.

There was a long moment of silence, where they stared at each other, and finally Blink smirked again and held out his hand. "Nice job," he said.

She glowered, but shook his hand. "Yeah," she said.

"...And you almost caught up with me this time."

There was a tense moment of silence.

Smurf turned on her heel and stomped away, kicking up sand with each step. Trixie shrugged and giggled nervously, shook Blink's hand and then Ian's, and started after Smurf, then stopped and waited at the edge of the crowd while the second race got prepared to start.

It took awhile for the crowd of people around Blink went back to watching and he slipped back to join her. "...This afternoon?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "But I mean... Does it have to be _today?_ She's already having a crappy day, 'cause... Well, you know."

"Because I won." He grinned, and Trixie rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I mean, this is just kind of... Rubbing it in."

He hesitated. "Well... Look at it like this, her good luck charm doesn't work anyway, so..."

"Yeah.... I guess." She sighed. "I'll grab it after lunch. Just don't... Don't do anything _too_ mean, okay?"

"Don't worry. I'm not feeling too mean right now."

"You're a jerk," she scowled.

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eye. "After lunch anyway?"

_"Yes,_ I said. Bye." She scowled again and walked away to go find Smurf, who probably would blame her for the loss, but she had to go find her anyway.

*

That afternoon there were two major events, so far as David was concerned. The first was actually a big deal to almost everyone at camp, because it was auditions for the giant end-of-first-session musical. Medda had selected _Oliver!_ for the camp to perform, though David really had no idea how an entire musical could be put together in one week—but Mush assured him as they strode into auditions (with nearly the rest of the bunk behind them) that it worked out every year.

The theater was full of people and buzzing with excess energy; the poor counselors had more people than they knew what to do with. The show was chosen largely because it actually had roles for the younger kids to play, but the younger kids didn't really seem to understand the concept of being quiet, sitting still, or doing what they were told. Just _watching_ them made David tired, and he knew his reading wasn't great, but on the other hand he wasn't too worried about it.

The second event was making a phone call home. By cabin, every group was ushered into the infirmary to use the phone there, and had up to ten minutes to talk to their families. David wasn't exactly _nervous_ to call home, though admitting to his parents that they were right was never his favorite thing. But he'd promised Sarah he would try and talk them into letting her go home, and that was really his only trump card.

_I've been spending too much time with Racetrack,_ he mused, waiting while Skittery was on the phone. _I never used to think of things in terms of card metaphors._

Skittery walked back into the main waiting room and tossed the phone to David, and he took it in to the back room and dialed home. He wondered if maybe they'd gone out, but half a ring before the machine would have picked up, the phone clicked on. "Jacobs' residence," his father said, sounding vaguely grumpy.

Right, David realized. _Sunday night bowling is on._ Mayer was always annoyed when people interrupted him while he was watching bowling tournaments.

"Dad?"

"David! Esther, pick up!"

Another click, and then, "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom."

"David!"

Well, at least it was a warm welcome.

"Is everything all right? How are you feeling?"

"I feel great, Mom," he promised. "I've been okay for a few days now."

"Well, that's good to hear, Davey. Of course, we'd have known that if you'd sent us a letter..."

"Sorry, Mom," David apologized quickly. "I keep meaning to write, I've just been... Well, really busy. It's crazy around here."

"Tell me all about it," she said, and David was pretty sure he could hear bowling in the background now. He smiled slightly; his parents were a bit quirky, sure, but when he spent time away from them he actually found that kind of endearing.

"Well, uh, I'm still spending most of my time in the theater. I'm... Learning a lot about behind the scenes stuff. Making costumes and sets. It's pretty cool."

"That's wonderful, Davey."

"Yeah, and today we had auditions for _Oliver!,_ so that'll be performed... I guess, on parent's day next week. Before changeover day to second session."

"Of course, we'll be there. Are you in it?"

"I don't know yet, we don't find out until after dinner," he answered. "But I hope so. Les tried out too, he's really excited. It'll be the first show he does at camp."

"Your father already has that Friday off work, so we'll be there bright and early to see everything you've been up to."

"Great," David answered. "I can't wait..." He paused. "Yeah, it'll be a great show. It's too bad Sarah didn't audition."

"Oh, she didn't?"

"No, she's been pretty... Well, she doesn't like to do much. Really, I think she's kind of depressed," he said, making it sound like a hesitant confession. He had to admit to himself, though, his acting was getting better; he could tell by the slight cooing noise his mother made that he'd gotten her hooked.

"Is she okay?" Mayer asked.

"Well, she's not sick or anything. She's just kind of miserable... I think she misses home. She hasn't made a lot of friends, really."

"Why not? She's such a social girl, usually."

"I don't know, it's really different here. I mean..." He took a deep breath and prepared just bite the bullet. "I mean, _I've_ had an awesome time, everyone here has been really great to me. I seriously love it. But she just hasn't fit in, she had to change cabins because a lot of the people in her first cabin were really mean to her. It was awful."

"I see."

"It's just a shame she's got to stay for both sessions, because she's so miserable. She wishes she could just go home at the end of first session..."

"Hmm, well, it is a shame she's having such an awful time."

"Yeah, she's tried so hard," David continued. "It just hasn't worked out."

"Well, if she's been trying..." Mayer mused.

David grinned to himself. _Hook, line and sinker,_ he thought, and went on to make small talk with his parents, giving them a few stories about the theater, until his time was up.

*

"I can't find Daisy," Smurf said, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Trixie bit her lip. She'd just been walking into the cabin and Smurf was sitting on the porch, almost curled into a ball, looking miserable. A wave of guilt washed through Trixie, because Daisy was Smurf's doll, the good luck charm, and she knew full well what had happened to her.

"Have you looked?" she asked.

"Of course I looked. I..." Smurf trailed off.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's stupid."

"Tell me," Trixie insisted, sitting down on the chair next to Smurf's.

"You're going to laugh at me."

"Would I do that?"

"Yes."

Trixie shrugged. "I won't, promise."

Smurf sighed. "After the race this morning, I was..."

"Pissed?"

"Yes. And I got mad at Daisy and threw her across the cabin and now I can't _find_ her. I just wanted to apologize."

"...You wanted to apologize to your doll."

"Shut up. I told you it was stupid."

"No, it's... I understand." Trixie shrugged. She'd known Smurf since middle school, when they sat next to each other and Smurf couldn't stop talking for more than two minutes at a time—and Trixie couldn't really, either. They'd gotten along immediately (even after they had to be separated in class to stop the incessant chatter) and had convinced their parents to let them go to the same camp that summer. So Trixie was more than used to some of Smurf's weirdness, including talking to—and apologizing to—inanimate objects.

But considering Smurf was upset enough to want to apologize to her doll, Trixie felt awful about having sold the doll off for a prank. She sighed. "Well... Come on, let's go try and clean up your bunk a little. I bet someone dropped her in with your stuff, and you just can't see her in that mess."

"Nuh uh," Smurf insisted. "I _did_ clean. Look."

Trixie stood up and glanced into the cabin, and sat back down, a little shocked. "Oh," she finally said. Because for the first time since the summer began, Smurf's bunk was clean. Her laundry was put away, her bed was made, and the place actually looked neat. "Well... I'm sure she'll turn up. She can't have disappeared."

"Yeah, I guess."

Trixie hesitated, then stood up. "I'm gonna go bug Maverick into telling me what part I got early."

"Bye."

"...Bye," Trixie said, and hurried off, suddenly determined. She had to find Blink before he did anything terrible to the doll. She _had_ to.

*

"Blink!"

Blink froze, startled, then saw it was just Trixie. But she was running frantically up to him as he walked out of the dining hall, trying hard not to look _too_ smug.

"What?" he asked, relaxing. Smurf was no where around.

"Where is it? I need it back."

"What?"

"The doll, idiot. I need it _back,_ Smurf is flipping out. She cleaned her bunk, Blink!"

"...What?"

"Smurf _cleaned._ That's really _bad._ I didn't think she was gonna be that upset but she _is_ so you can't do anything bad and I need the doll back."

Blink blinked. "And our deal?"

"I'll make it up to you, okay? I'll... I don't know, I'll get my parents to smuggle in real food or something for you."

"But the deal was her good luck charm in exchange for a date with Mush, and I _got_ you the date, and I had to put up with her to do it!"

"But I didn't _know," _Trixie whined. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal."

"Yeah, but—"

"Blink, come on, please. Don't be a jerk about this, you already won the race. What else do you need to make her miserable?"

He bit his lip. "But... Um..."

"What?"

He held up his hand and his fingers were stained with blue paint.

"You didn't..."

He nodded towards the door to the dining hall and she let herself in and saw the doll sitting on the lost and found table. Daisy had been old and scruffy to begin with, her hair made of yarn and her dress (with a daisy print pattern, hence her name) stained and frayed. She'd clearly been around for a long time, as dolls went.

And now she was bright blue.

Trixie groaned as Blink stepped up behind her. "Oh _nooooooooo...."_

"It's not so bad. It'll wash out, right?"

Trixie glared at Blink. "What kind of paint did you use?"

"Uh... I dunno. Whatever it was they had up at the arts'n'crafts cabin."

"Blink... You didn't even get the paint off your hands."

"Yeah, but it'll come off if I wash them, right?"

"Well, yeah. Eventually. But it's not like the doll is made of skin. Fabric _stains."_

He stared. "Oh."

"You're a moron."

"I am not, I just—you encouraged me!"

"I did not! I—"

"What's going on?"

Both of them spun around guiltily, to see Smurf standing in the doorway.

"Uh..."

"Trixie? You were acting real weird before, so..." She shrugged.

"I, uh..." She looked at Blink.

Blink blanched, and had the good grace to at least appear guilty. "Uh..."

"You two were yelling."

"Of course." Trixie shrugged. "We yell at each other a lot. Usually on your behalf."

Smurf stepped forward—and then saw what they'd been arguing over.

"Smurf..." Trixie started.

"Did you do that?" she asked Blink, her voice oddly calm, as she pointed at her bright blue doll.

"Well, Trixie—"

"Did _you_?" she asked Trixie.

"I... Well, _he_ did it, but..."

"She gave me the idea—"

"I didn't mean—"

"I didn't think it would stain—"

"I tried to stop—"

Smurf turned around and walked out of the dining hall, silently. The door shutting silenced Trixie and Blink, who stared after her, then at each other.

"Doesn't she usually yell a whole lot?" Blink asked.

Trixie nodded.

"So being quiet is... A good thing?"

Trixie shook her head.

"...Worse than her cleaning things?"

Nod.

"This was a really, really bad idea, wasn't it?"

Nod.

"Crap." Blink hesitated, then took off out of the dining hall after Smurf, yelling for her. She didn't stop and wait for him, but she didn't speed up either, and he caught up and put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off, but stopped walking. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That was—it—too far. I know."

She stared at him.

"Smurf?" he said finally. "Say something." She glared at him silently. "Come on, say _something._ I know you're—"

"You _asshole,"_ she finally hissed, which oddly almost made him feel better. He was used to her yelling at him, and if she'd just yelled he would have been able to handle it. All the silence had made him feel really _bad,_ somehow, and he wasn't used to that at all. He didn't like feeling guilty for being mean to Smurf. It was what they _did,_ it wasn't supposed to be a big deal.

"I—" he started, but she interrupted him.

"My grandmother gave me that doll when I was nine," she snapped. "She taught me how to sail when I was really little and we used to go sailing together every summer. And then she got sick and—and we all _knew—_we knew she wasn't going to get better and—she—the last time we went out sailing together before she went into the hospital, she gave me... She gave me Daisy and she told me that if I ever missed her I would still have Daisy and it would be like sailing with her, so—she—that doll was the most important thing she ever gave me and it was the _last_ time I saw her out of the hospital and—" she stopped abruptly. "You _asshole,"_ she repeated, and then began running off towards the girls' side of camp.

Blink didn't follow her. Instead, he stood and watched her go, and felt like an asshole.


	22. Good Horsey

The cast list was posted after dinner and David was fairly satisfied with his part, the doctor who saved Oliver at the end of the story. Not a large part, but then again, he didn't really _want_ a large part. He liked working on the backstage elements of shows almost more than being on stage anyway, and he was always afraid of screwing up once he was actually performing.

Though he did note with a slight brotherly pride that Les had been cast as Oliver. He wasn't surprised, considering he'd seen Les fake being sickly a number of times to stay home from school, and he'd always thought that Les's slight, pathetic cough was Dickensian.

And he noted that the rest of the show was also fairly well castMush was Fagin, the thief and gang leader who took Oliver in; and Blink had been cast as Bill Sykes, the ruthless criminal who died in the end. David almost laughed at that; the two of them would probably play those roles up perfectly. Well. Mush would do it perfectly and Blink, David suspected, would alternate between overacting and breaking character. But it would be fun either way.

Despite the excitement of the day, the cabin was pretty subdued that night. David had expected Blink to be energetic and smug all night, but he seemed oddly quiet, looked kind of like he was going to puke, and had disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutesonly to come out clutching a pale blue, dripping wet doll, then stash it in his stuff as soon as people started to notice it. David had just raised an eyebrow; if Blink wanted to bring a doll to camp with him... Well, Blink was weird anyway.

Race also seemed kind of irritated, even though he'd come out on top playing the bookie at the race earlier. But he didn't seem to be in the mood to talk either. Instead he just pulled on a set of headphones and stared out the window.

Mush was a bit more cheerful, though he kept pestering Blink, and that lead to Blink just saying he didn't feel well and asking to be left alone, which lead to Mush sulking. Snitch and Skittery were both down at the dining hall for late night snack, and Sneakers had his day off so he was out of camp for the evening.

David lay down on his bunk with a pad of paper and a pen; _Dear Mom_ was already written on the top of the page, but he was stuck there. A breeze came in from the doors and he pulled his sweatshirt hood upand realized abruptly that it wasn't his sweatshirt; he was still wearing Jack's from that morning. He smiled slightly; something about having Jack's sweatshirt on felt comforting.

He began to doodle mindlessly in the margins of the paper, unconnected scribbles and shapes, and thought about Jack. It was odd; he couldn't really picture his few friends from home that clearly in his mind, but as he closed his eyes slightly he could see Jack's face clearlyhis smile, his eyelashes, the hair that hung in his face, escaping the bandana.

David continued doodling, smiling to himself. He liked thinking about Jack, it reminded him of all the reasons he liked camp. People there were nice, they accepted him as no weirder than the rest of them, and they were... _Friendly._Not like school.

He wondered what it would be like for Jack at school, the difference between Jack at camp and Jack at home. Because at camp he was so warm, it was hard to picture _anyone_ disliking him, but David knew that he had serious problems at home... Camp was his escape, his safe place. It was good he had that, David decided. Jack definitely deserved somewhere to be safe and happy, and people who would make him _feel_ safe and happy.

Snitch and Skittery eventually made their way back to the cabin, and Maverick came over from Ferguson to tell them it was lights out make sure they were all okay and in bed. David dropped his notebook, letter still not even started, on the floor, and rolled over, still wearing the sweatshirt, and drifted off quickly. As he fell asleep, something Racetrack had said earlier in the week floated through his mind: _"I'd like to think I'd be open to it if there was ever a boy... That I wouldn't be so straight that I'd limit myself from something that could be really good."_

He slept well that night.

*

The argument started before breakfast. David was not at his best in the mornings, and frankly he'd always though Skittery was a bit insane anyway. Anyone who liked horses _that_ much, he mused, must secretly be an eight-year-old-girl. (And that thought lead to thoughts of Skittery with braids and a sundress, which he luckily shook out of his head before anyone noticed him trying not to laugh while he and Skittery bickered.)

"I still say Fraidycat is a good nickname."

"And I say you're a freak," David replied.

"I mean, you're way too old to be afraid of horses."

"I am _not_ afraid of horses!"

"Uh huh."

"I'm not." David scowled as the group made their way out of the cabin for breakfast. David was his usual, grumpy self in the morning, and morning seemed to be the only time Skittery was genuinely cheerful, which David decided made him even _more_ annoying.

The boys from Ferguson caught up with them on the main path, and the general rumble of voices grew louder. "Spot, Spot," Skittery called, motioning Spot over. Spot gave him a vaguely bored, appraising look; it was calculating, like every other look Spot gave anyone. But he did join them as they walked. "Spot, isn't it dumb for a sixteen-year-old to be afraid of horses?"

Spot smirked at David. "Yeah, definitely."

"See, David? You're a wuss."

"I am _not_ a wuss, and I'm not afraid of horses!" he answered indignantly.

"Spot, you ever seen him at the stables?"

"Nope, definitely never."

"I don't _like_ horses, I'm not _afraid_ of horses!"

"Prove it," Spot answered.

David stared at him. "What?"

"Prove it." He shrugged. "You're not afraid of horses, go to the stables with us after lunch and... You know, make nice with the horses."

"I..." Davd swallowed. "Um, well, I'm not _afraid_ of them, but I can't _ride_ or anything." He bit his lip slightly and hoped that would be a good enough excuse.

"Who said you had to ride one?" Skittery answered quickly. "You can just go in and _pet_ one. Unless you're scared."

"I..."

An arm was slung around his shoulder and he looked over to see Racetrack, who was forcibly interjecting himself into the conversation. "He can't, he's got an extra rehearsal after lunch today, right?"

David blinked.

"_Right,_ Dave?" Race said again, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

"Right," David answered. He wasn't quite sure where he was going to spend the hour after lunch, now, because he definitely didn't have a rehearsal... But on the other hand, it was better than facing the horses. Anything would be.

"So do it tomorrow."

"Okay," Race answered for him.

"What?" David interrupted.

"I said, _okay._ It's all right, _isn't it,_ David?" He squeezed David's shoulder again.

"Uh... Yeah. Yeah, it's fine."

"Fine!" Skittery declared triumphantly. "After lunch, tomorrow. I _dare_ you."

"He'll be there," Race answered confidently as they walked up to the dining hall. Race released David, but David turned to stare at him incredulously.

"How could you do that to me?" he demanded.

"I thought you weren't afraid of horses?" Race answered, clearly amused.

"I" David faltered. "That's not the point."

"Whatever you say."

"But I can't do that tomorrow! I can't, II had a bad experience once, okay?"

"You'll be fine."

"I"

"David, calm _down._ Go talk to Jack... He's a riding counselor, right?"

"Well, yeah"

"And you trust him, right?"

_"Yes,_ but"

"So go talk to him, ask him to... Introduce you to the horses or something. You trust him, he'll help you get over it tonight, and you'll be fine tomorrow."

David stared at him again, then nodded dumbly. Racetrack grinned at him, then shoved him off towards where Jack was approaching, ushering his cabin of 11-year-olds. David smiled quickly at the sight, because Jack just looked so happy with the kids, and the smile became a slight blush as Jack glanced over at him, caught his eye and grinned. They began walking towards each other almost unthinkingly, meeting somewhere in the middle.

"'Morning," Jack said with a slight yawn.

"Morning." David paused. "I'll, uh, put your sweatshirt in with my wash if you want."

"Nah, counselor laundry goes tomorrow, so if you can just drop it by my cabin..."

"Thanks, by the way." David swallowed and shifted his weight awkwardly, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to talk to Jack. It never had been before, but now his throat had gone dry and he couldn't think of anything to say. _Hey Jack, I'm the world's hugest wimp, will you please give me private riding lessons and not make fun of me too much? Yeah. That's cool._

"No problem..." Jack answered, and reached up to fix his bandana, pulling it off and shaking his too-long hair loose. David watched in utter fascination as Jack ran a hand through his somehow remarkably shiny hair, smoothed it, and retied the bandana. He swallowed again.

"So, uh..."

"Hmm?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Probably wondering why I'm such a stuttering dork, David told himself. There was no reason this should be so hard. Race was right, after all; David _trusted_ Jack. And Jack had said more than once that he didn't think David was a loser...

But the thought of saying or doing _anything_ that might make Jack wake up and see reality, see that David was just the geeky kid who didn't fit in, was terrifying.

"...Davey?" Jack asked, when David froze up and didn't answer.

_Davey,_ David repeated in his mind. The way Jack said it and the fact that it implied some sort of affection still startled David. But he shook his head, hoping to clear it, and gave Jack an embarrassed smile. "Not really awake yet," he answered, hoping it didn't sound as lame to Jack as it did to him.

"Want me to go get you a cup of coffee?" Jack offered, as counselors were allowed inside and campers weren't until the bell rang. But that would probably look like playing favorites, David realized, and shook his head no.

"No, just... Uh... I'm scared of horses."

Jack gave him a look that was both bemused and confused. "Okay. I had kind of figured."

"I mean, uh... I mean, Skittery dared me to go play with the horses tomorrow or something and I can't do it. I feel so stupid, and Race"

"You aren't stupid," Jack interrupted.

David faltered, but smiled. "I'm a dork."

"Nah." Jack shrugged. "Maybe you're a little irrational about horses, but... There's worse things in the world, right?"

David nodded, for some reason blushing very lightly again. _Because he says I'm not a dork and I'm not stupid. What is _wrong_ with me?_ David scolded himself, but aloud commented, "Uh... I guess. So... Anyway, Race said maybe you could... Could help me before then. I don't know _how,_ but... uh... Could you? Please?"

Jack broke into a wide smile. "Of course I can, Davey... Or at least, I'll try. Come to riding today."

David shook his head vehemently. "Not... Not with other people around." He gave Jack a pleading look. "Please?"

Jack paused, then nodded. "I guess... I mean, it's not _technically_ against camp rules to... After the after-dinner activity, when the kids go to bed. We can do it then."

"Okay," David breathed, suddenly feeling slightly relieved. The world seemed to be a bit better somehow. _I shouldn't have been so nervous to ask him,_ David thought to himself.

Jack absently reached up to play with his bandana again, and commented, "I'm glad you asked me, Davey. Kinda flattered..."

"What? I, oh, uh..."

"David!"

They both turned to see Sarah rushing over from the group of girls who'd just arrived. David had barely had the chance to realize she was the one yelling his  
name before she had reached him and Jack and she actually threw her arms around him.

He imagined he probably looked kind of ridiculously shocked, as he squirmed out of her grasp. "What"

"You talked to them and they said I can go home!" she squealed. "Next  
week! I can go _home!"_

"I"

She hugged him vehemently again and then turned and began to rush off.

He stared after her, then shrugged, and glanced at Jack, who was biting his lip. "Penny for your thoughts," David prompted.

"Uh, well... You know, just, I'm kind or relieved," Jack said guiltily. "Sarah... Is real nice and all, but she kept _hitting_ on me."

David shrugged, and almost told Jack about Sarah's crush, but the bell started ringing and instead they made their way in for breakfast.

*

Smurf chewed on the inside of her lip while next to her, Sparker was talking about... Something or other. She had stopped paying attention as soon as they'd started on the dirt path to the boat beach... She liked Sparker okay, they got along fairly well, but this was where she'd usually be sailing with Trixie and making fun of Blink.

Except she wasn't speaking to Trixie, and she had no idea at all what to do about Blink. Revenge wasn't an option, unfortunately; she was still on probation from the ant prank. And then after breakfast that morning, he'd given Daisy back to her, still a shade of bluebut a very, _very_ pale one. Like he'd spent a long time trying to get it clean.

_"I'm sorry,"_ he'd mumbled as he shoved it into her hands. _"I did the best I could to fix her. I'm really really sorry."_

And he'd actually sounded like he meant it, which was pretty astonishing. But she hadn't said anything to him, and his face fell and he walked off kind of sadly. And... It was weird, but she kind of felt like _she_ was the mean one now. Not that she had a problem being mean, it was just strange that he'd done something pretty awful to her, and she felt bad for him.

Well, she _almost_ felt bad for him. Not that she'd ever let him know that.

They arrived on the beach as the hour changed, where Dutchy, in all of his open Hawaiian shirt glory, was consulting with Irish, while a group of younger kids  
waited. Blink was sitting in the sand off by the canoes; he looked up and saw her, then looked away immediately.

Dutchy walked over after a minute and waved Blink over too. "Too many kids today," he said, sounding slightly put upon. "So they need more attention. And boats. We've only got one free for you guys, so..."

Smurf glared at Blink and waited for what _always_ happened in situations like this; he would declare he was there first, he'd been going to the camp for longer, and tell her to get lost. And then she'd yell at him that that wasn't fair, she had as much right to it as he did, and they'd settle it by seeing who could yell louder and longer, until Dutchy looked like he wanted to strangle them both and made them rock-paper-scissors for it.

She opened her mouth to start the argument, but Blink interrupted.

"You know what, why don't you two take it?" he said. "I'll... Go help the theater people make costumes, my rehearsal hour is next hour anyway. Bye."

He beat a fast retreat, and Smurf was left with the sailboat. She glanced at him walking up the path away from the beach, and then over at Dutchy, who gave them a quizzical look, and shrugged. "All yours," he said, and walked off to go supervise the kids who actually needed his help.

*

David couldn't keep his mind on what he was doing the rest of the day. His thoughts just kept straying to the horror that was heading his way; horses and humiliation. And even though Jack said he didn't mind trying to help, and said he didn't think David was a loser...

_He'll realize. And he'll make fun of me._

Not a pleasant thought, but it occupied David's mind all day. He barely said a word through any of the meals, painted flats in silence, messed up in rehearsal  
because his mind wasn't on it, and almost felt sick during the after dinner activity.

But that was it. The time had come.

The youngest kids were shooed off to bed, and then Jack's campers. It was a Monday evening, and he noticed the counselors who had Tuesdays offSpecs, Dutchy and Bumletshightailing it up to the parking lot. And finally, just past dusk but  
before it was _really_ dark, he couldn't avoid it anymore. As inconspicuously as possible, he slipped away from everyone else, and off to the stables.

He didn't go in, though. He wasn't going to do that without Jack, and he waited, partially impatient and partially with dread, for Jack to approach. It took a  
few minutes, but finally he saw Jack's familiar form walking up the path, and then Jack was close enough for David to see his smile, too.

The smile was heartening. Jack was in a good mood. David relaxed a tiny bit, but tensed up again as Jack stopped and motioned to the stable entrance. "After you," he offered.

David hesitated, but made himself shakily walk inside, so Jack wouldn't realize what a waste of time it was and just give up out of hand. Jack put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and steered him past a few stalls. One of the horses whinnied and David shuddered, but Jack led him to what looked like an equipment area... And then began to look through drawers and produced a carrot from one.

David stared at him, confusion evident on his face. Jack grinned. "They like carrots, Davey."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"I figured. Come on." He nodded back towards the horses and David _almost_ froze again, but concentrated hard made himself walk. Step by step, to the last stall, where Jack was standing, waiting. The stables had a high roof and open walls at the sides; the moonlight was actually more light than the dim, flicking ceiling light.

David  
stared almost in horror as Jack reached out to pet the horsea plain brown thing with what David could only assume was a mean look in its eye. The horse tossed its head in a grumpy fashion and David wanted to bolt, but watching Jack as he smiled at the horse, cooed nonsensical syllables into its ear and calmed it down kept him there. Jack was doing this for him, after all.

And Jack with the horse was just _cute._ Even David could see that much.

The horse tossed it's head again gently and nuzzled against Jack's hand, and Jack grinned at it and scratched between its ears. "Davey," he called calmly. "C'mon over."

"Uh... Maybe I'll just watch from here."

Jack laughed slightly. "No, come over. This is Vanessashe's a real sweetie." He gave her another pat. "Aren't you?" he cooed at her. "Yes you are. You're a _sweet_ girl."

David stared at him like he'd grown another head.

Jack looked up from the horse and motioned David over insistently. David hesitantly walked the few paces over to where he stood, still keeping Jack between him and the horses. He eyed the horse wildly and the horse glared back, he thought. Jack handed David the carrot, and as he accepted it, took hold of David's other wrist.

"It's okay. C'mon, Dave. Just... pet her gently. It's okay."

Jack's voice was steady and soothing as he guided David's now slightly shaking hand towards the horse. David took a step forward, winced and just before his hand brushed fur pulled away and jumped back, dropping the carrot. He heard Jack sigh slightly and looked up, embarrassed.

But Jack just smiled. "It's okay. You're doing fine."

"I..." David shrugged. What was he supposed to say? Instead of answering, he leaned down to pick up the carrot, not seeing that Jack leaned down too, and their hands met. For just a moment, Jack's hands rested against David's, and then he looked down at their fingers and abruptly pulled away.

"Sorry," Jack mumbled.

"It's... okay." David's hand felt warm where Jack's had touched it.

"Let's try this again." Jack had more cheer in his voice now, but David could tell it was a little awkward and forced. "Here. You can give her the carrot."

"Uh... Why don't you do it? I can... Watch."

Jack shook his head no. "Come on. Don't be afraid, Davey. She's a real calm girl, she won't hurt you. She only gets nervous if you're afraid."

"I knew they could sense fear."

Jack chuckled. "Come on. Here, just hold out the carrot."

"Uh..."

Jack hesitated, then reached out to close David's hand tightly around the carrot, and nudged him towards the horse. And David very, _very_ slowly held out the carrot. The horse sniffed and shook its head slightly and he pulled it back, which made the horse make a slight whining noise. David kind of whimpered back and turned to look at Jack.

"You have to hold it where she can _bite_ it, Davey. Come on, you don't even have to touch her."

"Jack,  
I don't think I can..."

"You  
can." Jack smiled. "Come on, I know you can."

David swallowed hard and forced himself to hold his arm out towards the horse again, and as soon as it was anywhere near the horse he screwed his eyes shut tight and winced. Then let out a short, undignified yelp as the horse actually bit into it and he felt it being tugged out of his grip.

But the horse munched contentedly, and David let his hand drop as it got a firm grip on the carrot and didn't seem to need him anymore. Jack nodded. "That's a start."

"Can we go now?"

"Are you over fear of horses yet?"

"No."

Jack grinned. David groaned.

"Come on... Now you've just got to pet her."

"But I"

"You can do it." Jack reached out and scratched behind the horses ears and she whickered appreciatively. "See? She likes it. Just pet her gently."

David stared at the horse, and then at Jack. Jack smiled encouragingly, and David really didn't want Jack to know how utterly terrified he was, so he took a deep breath, reached out, and tried to pet the horse. And it almost worked.

His  
fingers brushed her nose and he felt the short hair of her fur, but as he did so she tossed her head and whinnied, which he hadn't been expecting. He yelped again and jumped backwards, away, and she let out a louder, longer neigh and stomped a foot. He continued to back up, not thinking as much as just reacting, and his heel got caught on one of the floorboards and he tripped, falling backwards.

Jack reached out to catch him, one firm arm holding him in place, and he straightened up and looked up at Jack.

Jack didn't drop his arm.

David didn't pull away.

The horse whinnied again, but David didn't even hear it; he was having trouble looking away from Jack. The way his hair framed his face, the smoothness of his  
skin, his warm, soft brown eyes... David swallowed hard.

Jack started to move away, just a tiny bit, but David interrupted him by pressing closer until their chests were touching, and Jack's arm was still pressed to  
his back. His grip tightened slightly and almost not knowing what he was doing, David pushed up onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Jack's.

And then his better senses kicked in and he fell back onto his flat feet, blushing furiously, while Jack stood, frozen and shocked.

David's heart rate was reaching speeds he doubted it ever had before, he could hear it pounding, the only noise in the whole camp, he thought. His lips felt warm from Jack's, just like his skin had where Jack touched him earlier, and he _liked_ that warmth. It wasn't just body heat, he realized slowly, it was that he liked the way Jack touched him. It was gentle, and caring, and...

He'd never felt that before. Not from anyone, not about anyone.

He kissed Jack again, more decisively this time, and much more insistently, putting a hand on Jack's side and nervously opening his mouth slightly. And just as Jack started to respond and kiss back, he pulled his face away. "Davey..." he murmured.

"Jack, I..."

"Davey, don't think I don't... I don't appreciate this an' all... I mean, I..." His voice cracked slightly. "You're _straight..."_

"Jack..." David said again. "I don't know what II don't know _anything_ except I just..."

"Davey?"

David buried his face in Jack's shoulder for a moment, and Jack wrapped his arms firmly around David, a strong hug. As though Jack could pull him any closer.  
"Jack, I don't know..." he mumbled. "I just know you feel _right."_

Jack didn't say anything else for a moment, then just murmured, "Davey..."

David looked back up at him and they stared at each other. And this time, the kiss was mutual and deep, Jack still holding David close, as David angled his face up to meet Jack's lips. And then the world shrunk to just the two of them; the feeling of lips and tongues, warm breath, Jack's hands on David's shoulder blades, blue eyes and brown eyes that didn't see anything else.

One of Jack's hand slowly crept up David's back, until David could feel the slight sweat on Jack's palm as it pressed against his neck until it got lost in David's curls, almost massaging the back of David's head. But David was lost in the sensations; Jack's tongue and the taste of his mouthmint gum, which somewhere in the back of his mind David realized Jack probably chewed either when he couldn't smoke, or to help his breath after a cigarette. The slight chap on Jack's lips was an interesting texture, and so were the ridges at the top of Jack's mouth (which made Jack giggle as David ran his tongue against them).

All sensations, all the heat, should have been awkward and should have been scary. David knew he should be worried or nervous because not only had he never kissed anyone before, he had just kissed a _boy_ and... Well, he had never even thought about kissing a boy before. But then, he had never thought about kissing a girl, either. He'd never wanted to, really.

But he'd definitely wanted to kiss Jack. So he ignored the building nerves and all the awkwardness and let himself be immersed in the experience.

Neither one was sure how long passed before they finally pulled away. David took a deep breath and then buried his face in Jack's neck again, taking in the scent and the smoothness of Jack's skin. Jack hugged him again, and David snaked his arms around Jack's waist and hugged back.

"You okay?" Jack finally asked softly, gently rubbing David's back with one hand, sensing David's slight nerves.

"Mmm," David mumbled into the ribbed collar of Jack's t-shirt. "Just... I mean..." He looked up at Jack. "Now I'm gonna actually have to _think_ about... things."

"Are you... I just asked that." Jack still hadn't let David out of his embrace. "I mean, uh... _Will_ you be okay? With thinking?"

"Yeah." David nodded slightly, and his hair tickled Jack's neck. "I think so. We... We're gonna have to talk some time, though."

"I know."

"And you... I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I know." Jack leaned over slightly and kissed the top of David's head. "I know, Davey. You can take all the time you want to think. I'll be here waiting."

David finally looked up from Jack's shoulder, thinking of a hundred things he wanted to sayhe wanted to reassure Jack of how much he liked him, and had liked kissing him; he wanted to explain to Jack that he was nervous and confused and yet so happy, he wanted to tell Jack how much he just wanted Jack to be happy... The words all collided in his mind and tripped over his tongue and he didn't say anything.

But that was okay, because Jack smiled down at him like he understood anyway. So really, David did the only thing he could, and he kissed Jack again. He could feel Jack smile against his lips and the mint flavor made its way into his mouth again, and David almost melted. He felt warm all over, and safe, and _happy._

It felt like no time passed as they kissed, though the minutes ticked by until David eventually let his head rest against Jack's shoulder and sighed. "Jack..."

"Mmm." Jack kissed the top of his head, then glanced down at his watch and groaned. "I should get back to my cabin..."

David sighed. "Yeah... Probably..."

"I don't want to go," Jack confessed, tightening his embrace around David again. "I could stay here with you all night..."

"Me too," David answered. "But I... You..."

"Yeah. Work. Just... Davey, will you... Will... I don't know." Jack sounded not upset, but slightly frustrated.

David hugged him tightly. "Everything will be fine," he said, in response to what Jack couldn't articulate. "Between us. Everything is _great."_

"You should... Think about things."

"I will. But I already know I... I like you. That's not even a question."

"Okay." David could feel Jack's smile. "I, I like you too."

"I know." David pulled slightly away from Jack and smiled up at him.

"Good."

They kissed again, though this one was shorter and calmer, and broke off with a quick, "Goodnight, Davey."

"'Night, Jack."

They walked out of the stables holding hands, fingers intertwined comfortably. Jack wanted to kiss David again before David started on the path down to his bunk, but knew better than to do it outside where he didn't know who was watching, so he dropped David's hand and grinned after David, watching until he disappeared down the path. Then, still smiling widely, he made his way back into the stables, dug into the supply cabinet and found a sugar cube, then walked over to Vanessa, the only witness of the kissing.

"Good horsey," he cooed at her, scratching behind her ears, then holding out the sugar cube. "You made David like me. _Very_ good horse. Very, very good horse..."

Vanessa's only response was to eat the sugar cube and flick her tail at a fly.


	23. Interesting Positions

"You do _not_ get control of the music."

"It's my car, I'm driving, and I get control of the music."

"You do _not."_ Specs slapped Dutchy's hand away from the radio control, and in the back seat, Bumlets bit back a snicker.

"I'm not listening to this album _again._ I have only so much tolerance, _Richard_, and my tolerance for this album ran out about three weeks ago, the seven _hundredth_ time through that goddamn CD!"

"I can't hear you," Specs proclaimed, and turned the volume up.

Justin Timberlake echoed through the rusty old station wagon, and the look on Dutchy's face was decidedly suicidal. Bumlets counted slowly to ten, and just as he hit the last number, Dutchy yelled and sprang for the controls. Justin Timberlake's voice went silent, Bumlets started laughing, and Dutchy triumphantly ejected the CD while Specs turned a sharp corner.

"I'm gonna push you outta the freaking _car_ next time," he sulked. "Put the CD back."

"Hmmm, let me think about it... No."

"_Rob!"_ he whined. "You're gonna scratch it."

"Yes, I am. To the point of unplayability, and then I will never have to listen to it _again."_

Specs glanced in the rear view mirror and shot a grin at Bumlets. "Dutchy is jealous of my crush on Justin."

"I am _not!"_ Dutchy yelped, in a voice which betrayed the fact that he was, in fact, almost _obscenely_ jealous of Specs' crush on Justin. Specs smirked, and Dutchy responded by turning on the radio and flipping stations.

"Crap. Crap. Crap." Dutchy groaned and turned it back off. "There are virtually no decent radio stations for a fifty mile radius. And my CD collection is in my bunk."

"So stop whining and put my CD back in."

"No!" Dutchy flipped through the radio stations again. "I am going to go insane."

"Going to go?" Specs asked mildly.

"Bite me."

"Once we have a hotel room and have kicked Bumlets out," Specs answered cheerfully.

"Gee, it's so hot when you dirty talk like that." The fact that Dutchy was rolling his eyes was evident in his voice. "I need _music..."_

"Justin!"

"No!"

"Ro-o-o-o-o-ob..."

"No!"

Bumlets, still laughing, dug into his backpack and produced the CD he'd picked up their first day off, the one from the band they'd seen, and passed it up to Dutchy. "Oh, thank God," Dutchy answered, slipping it in. "Is it any good?"

"Yeah, it... I think I'm gonna do the end-of-session dance routine to the fourth track."

"I keep forgetting you dance," Dutchy noted. "Are you any good?"

"I'm all right."

"He's awesome," Specs put in, having seen what Bumlets had done in the theater. "And he does gymnastics."

"Uh... yeah," Bumlets agreed.

"And can stretch himself into the most _interesting_ positions," Specs continued. Bumlets fell silent, because he had no idea what Specs was talking about now. But apparently, Dutchy did, because he froze up and then glared at Specs. "He's _flexible."_

"Shut up now," Dutchy answered.

Specs grinned and shot a look back at Dutchy. "It's funny, because he gets jealous for no reason, over stupid things."

"Shut up," Dutchy said again, then, "Were you seriously just hitting on him?"

_"Yes,_ Rob." Specs snorted. "'Cause having had a steady boyfriend for, like, three years now—"

"Four years, three months and—"

"Whatever, point is, having had a boyfriend for the last million years, and having never once cheated on him, or even come close to it, you'd think _maybe_ he might give me the benefit of a doubt and not be a jealous _freak."_

"That doesn't seem very likely," Dutchy answered, "which, considering you've been dating him for four years, three months, and eleven days, you'd think you'd _know."_

"You're too possessive."

"Yes, but you love it."

"Not when it means you won't let me listen to Justin."

"I don't let you listen to Justin because then _I'd_ have to listen to Justin and then blood would start to gush from my ears."

"Also, because you're a jealous, possessive freak."

"Yes, that too. Sorry. You still don't get to listen to Justin. Happy now?"

"Not as happy as I'd be if you'd put my CD back in."

"Happy enough?"

"Sure."

"Good."

Bumlets blinked a few times. He wasn't positive, but he thought he'd just overheard a fight. It was hard to tell, though. Even when they weren't speaking exclusively in lyrics, they had their own language.

There was a short pause, and then Dutchy turned around. "So, your girlfriend's band is in town again. You wanna go tonight?"

"Yeah... sure."

"Awesome." Dutchy turned back to Specs, and poked him in the side, only to have Specs slap his hand away. "She was hot."

"And had _great_ fashion sense," Specs answered cheerfully, then poked Dutchy back. "See? No jealousy."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Dutchy sighed, Specs drove, and Bumlets watched, bemused.

*

David didn't think he'd be able to sleep, so he was surprised when the first bell woke him up. He didn't remember falling asleep... He remembered being giddy, climbing into bed before everyone got back from their nightly snack, and laughing to himself for no reason. He'd had to bury his face in his pillow to keep from chortling aloud as other people came in.

He felt kind of like when he'd been ten years old and begged his parents to let him drink wine instead of grape juice at Passover. He'd had all four glasses (plus another at dinner) and by the time he went to bed, was fully giddy and slightly dizzy. It felt pleasant, if strange.

That was the best way he could think of to describe how he felt. Pleasant, in a good mood, but it was so _odd._

Apparently, though, it hadn't worn off the way the wine had. Because he rolled out of bed in a fabulous mood, the first time he could remember being happy to be awake in a long time, even at such an early hour.

Fighting back the urge to whistle, he skidded past Skittery and Sneakers to claim the first shower. Skittery blinked and shrugged, and Racetrack tapped his shoulder.

"Five bucks," he said.

"Five bucks _on?"_ Skittery asked, as Race pulled him aside.

"Five bucks on David petting the horse with no problem."

"I'll take that," Skittery agreed, and they shook quickly. And then overheard David humming _We Built This City On Rock And Roll_ loudly and off key. "Is he... Feeling okay?"

"Looks like." Race grinned. "I'm gonna get dressed and head off early. I'll catch up with you later, when I'm taking your money. Ta ta."

Skittery rolled his eyes, and Race cheerfully walked back to his bunk to get ready for the day.

David finished in the shower quickly, and met Race to walk down to the dining hall. David was still cheerful, almost floating as they walked. "You're in a good mood," Race noted.

"Mmm, yep."

"I take it things went well with the horses yesterday?"

"Yep," David repeated.

"Well, glad to hear it. I told you to talk to Jack."

"Yeah." David bit back a giggle to himself. "That worked out."

They walked down to wait for the third bell in silence, and it was only a few minutes later when David spotted Jack coming down the path, his campers bouncing around him. He waved and Jack walked over immediately. "Hey, you," Jack murmured, standing as close as he could to David without looking strange.

"Hey," David answered, forcing himself not to move closer to Jack, as much a he wanted to.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned, and ducked his head to look away; David grinned back, but couldn't look anywhere but at Jack's smiling face.

Racetrack cleared his throat. "So, when did _this _happen?" he demanded.

"When did what happen?" David asked.

"You two are—you two look pretty comfortable."

"Yeah," Jack answered.

"Cozy, even."

"Cozy?" Jack repeated. "How so?"

Race snorted slightly. "Jack, it's _me._ I know you too well."

"You really do." Jack laughed lightly, and David grinned. "It happened last night."

"Well, good, I guess. Be careful."

"We will," David said, shooting a look at Jack. But Jack didn't look concerned.

Race wanted to ask them more, but knew better than to do it with so many people around. So instead, he answered, "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." David looked at Jack, who was grinning and probably feeling just as giddy as David did, and David had a hard time not reaching out to hold his hand.

*

Race spent breakfast trying as hard as he could to not stare at Jack or David, who kept giving each other lingering, adoring looks. It was incredibly obvious, and he had to hope that was because he knew what to look for, that no one else—particularly his mother, who kept asking him what he was staring at—would notice.

"My birthday is this week, Tony," his  mother commented offhandedly.

"I know," Race answered. "I wouldn't forget."

"And?"

"And... I'm sure I'll make you something lovely in arts and crafts." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I get my sense of humor from Dad, right?"

"Don't blame me," his father murmured into his coffee cup at the other end of the table. "If it were up to me, breakfast wouldn't be until ten."

"Hush, you," Mrs. Higgins chided. "Don't go giving people ideas."

"Don't want a revolution on your hands?"

"Anthony, it's too early in the morning for you to be funny."

"Yes, Mom," he answered. "So, what about your birthday?"

"Your brothers are coming to visit for it."

"Cool. Which ones?"

"All of them."

He gaped at her. _"All_ of them?"

"Yes."

"All _seven_ of them?"

"And their families, yes."

"That's like... A million people."

"Not quite, but it does feel that way," his father mused.

"Hush," Mrs. Higgins said again. "Yes, they're _all_ coming."

"Well, then." Race blinked. "Neat. Where are you going to _put_ them all?"

"In your room, of course," his father answered.

"All million of them?"

"Anthony. Back to the point, please."

"There was a point?"

_"Yes,_ Tony."

"Could've fooled me."

"Why do I bother to talk to anyone before noon?" she sighed.

"I've always wondered that." He grinned at her again, and she glowered, though Race knew that was her 'I'm trying not to smile' face.

"Anyway, as I was _saying,_ your brothers and their families are all coming to visit for my birthday, so we'll be going out for a nice family dinner."

"All million—"

_"Yes,_ all million of us. May I finish?"

"You can try. I wouldn't bet on your being successful, though."

"You'd best not bet on _anything, _Tony. We've had _that_ chat before."

He coughed. "Yes, Mom. I gave up gambling."

"Really?"

He thought of the five dollars he planned to win from Skittery later that day, and gave his mother a very sincere nod. She raised an eyebrow skeptically, but didn't press the matter. "As I was saying—"

"Hey, that digression was all yours."

_"As I was saying,"_ she repeated, "if you'd care to invite a friend, you'd be welcome to do so, as usual."

"Cool," he said again. "Do I have to?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"...Mom, we traumatize people."

"That isn't funny, Tony."

"The truth hurts, Mom."

_"Anthony,"_ she said warningly, but again smiled. He grinned back. He _loved_ getting away with things. "Yes, bring a friend; and this year, it can't be Jack."

He frowned slightly. "Why not? I bring Jack _every_ year."

"Because Jack is a counselor this year, and that's unfair. I can't have anything that looks like favoritism on my part."

"It's not, it's favoritism on _my_ part. Everyone knows he's my best friend."

"Hardly the point, dear."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll sucker someone else into it."

"Tony..."

"I mean, I'll invite some poor unsuspecting soul."

"Tony!"

"I'll ask one of my friends, Mom."

"That's better."

She finally seemed to be finished, and he glanced around the cafeteria, trying to decide who to invite. Jack had always been the best option, because aside from being Race's closet friend at camp, he was practically an extra sibling; Race's whole family knew him, and he was used to their slight... Insanity. No one else was, and they had developed a bit of a reputation around the camp.

The stories were all greatly exaggerated, though.

Well, most of them were.

That meant it had to be someone who didn't know traditional camp stories. Race's gaze came to rest on David, who was doing his best not to grin goofily over at Jack, and not quite succeeding. It was cute, really.

It would be mean to drag someone into a family gathering without warning. But on the other hand, only someone without warning would attend...

Well, it looked like it was David or no one, then.

*

It wasn't until lunch that David remembered what he was doing _after_ lunch. He was halfway through eating a forkful of potatoes when he recalled that he'd been dared to go up to the stables after lunch and prove he wasn't afraid of horses.

Which presented a bit of a problem, because he and Jack had gotten so wrapped up in what they were doing the previous night, they'd forgotten all about the dare. David nearly choked on his potatoes, and shot an apprehensive look at Skittery, who didn't notice, then at Jack, who raised an eyebrow.

"Horses," he mouthed, and Jack's jaw dropped.

He'd forgotten, too.

He threw another panicked look at Jack, who just shrugged. It was a little too late, now.

David's heart sank slightly. This was _not_ going to be good. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore, and spent the rest of the meal just pushing his food around on his plate. He wondered if he could feign being sick, but doubted it; Triage knew him too well, after the week he'd spent in the infirmary. He wondered if maybe Skittery and Spot had forgotten...

No such luck. They were dismissed from the meal, and the next thing he knew, Skittery was on one side of him, Spot was on the other, and he was practically being marched up to the stables. Racetrack caught up to them, and Jack sent him a wave as he took his cabin back to their bunk.

As they reached the door to the stable, Snitch, Blink, Mush, and Ian all came up the path to join them. "What..." David murmured. "What is everyone _doing_ here?"

"Well, it's either this or sit around in our cabin for an hour," Snitch explained. "And Sneakers didn't seem to care."

"Sneakers is off at the arts'n'crafts cabin with Paint, he means," Blink explained.

"And Maverick?" Spot asked, glancing at his bunkmates.

"Thinks we're in _their_ bunk. So it's all good," Ian answered.

"Oh, fabulous," David said weakly. Embarrassing himself in front of just two people would have been bad enough; he knew word would have spread. But in front of even more... This was so very, very bad.

"Well, shall we?" Race suggested, and pushed open the door.

It was much brighter in the stable than it had been the previous night. This time, David could see all of the horses clearly. And they all looked _ferocious._ He bit his lip to keep from whimpering, and tried to find Vanessa. Jack said _she_ was gentle, so maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

"Here!" Skittery called, and grabbed David's arm, dragging him towards the nearest horse. It was significantly larger than Vanessa had been, brown with some splotches on it's back, and it glared at him menacingly.

"Uhhh..." David stood helplessly in front of it. "What do you want me to _do?"_

"Pet him," Skittery answered.

"Uh."

"Go on," Spot urged, leaning lazily against a support beam, smirking slightly. "Unless you're _scared,_ Jacobs."

"I'm not..." But his voice cracked, his palms were sweating, and he felt kind of shaky. Whatever acting ability Medda had beaten into him for use on the stage had clearly deserted him, judging by the roar of laughter from his claim that he wasn't scared.

"C'mon, Dave," Race urged. "No big deal, right?"

"Yeaaaaaaah..."

He stood and stared at the horse. It stared right back at him. Hadn't Jack said they could sense fear? What if it attacked him or bit him or... Or did whatever angry horses did?

"Well?" Spot finally asked.

"Uhhh..."

Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him. David didn't really have much of a choice... He reached up towards the horse and noticed that his hand was, indeed, shaking. He screwed his eyes shut and _reached—_

—and bopped the horse on the side of the face. It responded by making what sounded to David like a menacing growling noise and shaking its head to ward David's hand off. And then it was like a repeat of the previous night, minus one important detail. He yelped and jumped back, his foot caught on a floorboard, except this time, there was no Jack to catch him. And his friends, helpful people that they were, all moved out of his way. He flailed his arms, trying to catch his balance, failed, and toppled backwards.

The gales of laughter bruised his ego enough to match his backside, which was, doubtlessly, going to be quite bruised indeed. He groaned and collapse the rest of the way, leaning on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

Skittery stepped into his field of vision. "David... You're scared of horses, aren't you?"

"Shut _up..."_

Skittery straightened up and turned to Racetrack. "I believe that's five dollars," he said, holding out his hand.

Race groaned. "It's in the cabin. You suck, David."

David made a confused face, having no idea what _that_ was about, and finally pushed himself back up onto his elbows, and stared at the smirking group around him.

"All talk," Skittery said, and nudged Spot with his elbow. "See? We were right."

"Of course. Nothing," Spot mused, "but a walking mouth."

"Ooooh, that one's _good!"_ Skittery answered. "Walking Mouth. How's that sound, Race?"

"Like I care?" Race answered bitterly, no longer feeling the altruistic urge to protect David from Skittery's attempts at giving him a nickname.

"Mouth for short," Skittery continued. "Perfect. Well, Mouth, that's something good from this, huh?"

"That's debatable," David answered darkly, and another round of laughter started. He collapsed back onto the floor, glad at least he couldn't see any stupid horses from that point of view, and finally Blink stepped over to him and offered him a hand up.

They were just starting for the door when a voice demanded, "What are you all doing out of your cabins?"

There was a beat of silence, and David stood on his tiptoes, and could make out Morris Delancey in the doorway of the stables. That didn't bode well. He glanced around and discovered everyone else was doing the same, waiting for someone else to answer.

"Well?"

No answer.

"The stable is not a playground, and I can't allow—"

"Hey, guys!"

The campers let out a collective breath, as Sneakers came up behind Morris, looking in far too good a mood.

Morris glared at him. "Are these _your_ campers?"

"Most of them, yes. Geeze, guys, when I asked someone to go get my sweatshirt, I didn't think you'd _all_ go. Sorry, Morris; let me get them out of your hair, huh?" And he whisked them out of the stable before Morris realized no one was holding a spare sweatshirt.

"Sneakers, you—" Skittery started.

"Saved your lives? Yeaaaah. Imagine my shock, getting back from helping Paint organize the arts'n'crafts cabin and finding everyone gone..."

"Organizing the cabin?" Snitch asked. "Is _that_ what you were doing?"

"Why, what did you _think_ we were doing?" Sneakers shot back. Snitch didn't answer, and Sneakers smirked slightly. "Anyway, that was pretty dumb of you all. So yes, you're welcome for bailing you out." He paused, then added guiltily, "So, did David do it?"

"What? How did you know about—"

"Nope, duh," Skittery interrupted, as David sulked.

"Tough break, Dave," Sneakers said. "Wish I'd seen _that."_

"How did you know about that?"

"Well, uh..." He coughed. "You know, from Paint."

"How'd she—"

"Smurf."

"How—"

"From Trixie."

"How did _she—"_

"Mush, of course," Blink filled in, and Mush elbowed him.

"So what you're saying is that basically... Everyone knows?" David asked weakly.

"Yeah, probably."

"Well that's..." David sighed. "That's great, really."

"Just think of it like this," Skittery said philosophically, "at least it won't take very long for your new nickname to get around, Mouth."

They settled into the cabin, Spot and Ian returned to Ferguson, Race grumbled and paid Skittery, and David picked up the notebook and letter he'd abandoned two days ago._ Dear Mom,_ he thought._ Today I was humiliated in front of most of my friends. Please kill me now. Love, David. PS; I think I'm gay._

He put the notebook back down and shut his eyes.

"Dave?"

He opened them again. Race was standing on the bottom rung of the ladder, his arms folded on David's bed, chin resting in his arms. "Hmmm?"

"How'd you like some non-camp food?"

"I'd love it. Why...?"

"My mom's birthday is in a few days... My family is all going out, Mom thought I might like bring a friend to ease the pain of dealing with my brothers... You wanna come?"

"Sure," David agreed easily.

"Great." Race let himself back down the ladder.

From his bunk, Sneakers started chuckling. "Race, that wasn't very nice... David, man—"

"Mouth," Skittery interrupted helpfully.

"Whatever. You just got _played."_

"What?" David asked.

There was a long silence. "Nothing..." Sneakers finally said, and chuckled.

"Ignore him," Race called.

"Riiiight," David mumbled. Now he was both embarrassed and suspicious. The day was just getting better and better.

*

"Do I recognize you?"

Bumlets felt a flush creep over his face. Dutchy poked him in the ribs. "Uh," he squeaked. "I... I saw you guys a few weeks ago."

Gabby raised an eyebrow. Her set had just finished, and Dutchy and Specs had dragged Bumlets outside to wait for the band. Dutchy seemed to find his crush amusing, and Specs seemed to think it was cute. Bumlets was mortified.

"Yeah..." She glanced over him again. "Nah; I remember your blond friend."

Dutchy grinned and Gabby checked him out visibly. Specs rolled his eyes, Dutchy cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. She raised and eyebrow and Dutchy reached for Specs's hand, and she smiled and turned back to Bumlets. "No, I swear I recognize you from somewhere."

"I've only seen you that once... Well... You know, and tonight."

"Odd. What's your name?"

"Uh... Alec. Alec Bumlets."

"That's a terrible name."

"I know." He made a face. "My parents decided to combine their last names and didn't really worry too much about the consequences."

"Ught." She tapped her fingers against the wall, then mused, "ESPN?"

"Maybe." He shrugged.

Specs whapped Bumlet's stomach. "ESPN? You never told us you were on ESPN! What were you... What do you...?"

"Gymnastics. And dance."

"I knew it!" Gabby declared, and grinned. "My little sister is really in to that stuff; she watches all the competitions. You've been on there a couple times, right?"

"Yeah, three or four."

Specs gaped.

Gabby chucked his shoulder playfully. "You do good. You're going on to the Olympics or what?"

Bumlets' blush turned brighter. "Nah. I'm not... Not _that_ good."

"Still, though. Pretty impressive. So, uh... You want an autograph?"

"Sure!" He laughed, and then blushed, then dug out his copy of her band's CD. "Uh... Thanks."

She pulled a pen out of her pocket and flipped the CD open to sign the liner notes.

"You know, Alec is choreographing a dance to one of your songs," Dutchy offered.

"Really?" she asked, handing the CD back to him.

"Uh... Yeah, well, for the camp to... Um..."

"Camp?"

"We work at a camp," Specs explained. "He's the dance counselor."

"Oh, cool. You like it?"

"Uh, yeah. I... You know, it's not bad."

"Well... Cool. Maybe I'll see you at another show sometime? We play around here a lot, my folks live in the area."

"Yeah, I—yeah."

She seemed to be waiting for something else, and he didn't know what. Dutchy stifled a laugh by turning it into a cough, and finally Gabby just sauntered off to catch up with her band. Bumlets kind of grinned after her.

"You are so lame," Dutchy sighed.

"What?"

"She was trying to _flirt_," Specs explained. "And you didn't really flirt back."

"I thought she was hitting on Dutchy."

"She stopped when she figured he was gay," Specs explained.

"When did she...?"

"You're so clueless, it's kind of cute," Specs laughed.

_"Specs..."_ Dutchy whined. "Stop hitting on other people."

"Makes you crazy, doesn't it?" Specs laughed, but he reached for Dutchy's hand again and as they were about to get into the Specsmobile, Dutchy pinned Specs against the car and kissed him. Bumlets turned away, though glanced back out of curiosity when they still seemed to be making out a minute later; Specs had one leg wrapped around Dutchy's waist, the car holding up most of his weight.

"You know, I could show you some stretches so you could get _both_ legs up..." he mused.

Dutchy let Specs half-tumble back to the ground and cleared his throat. "Uh... Yeah," he coughed.

Specs kissed his cheek and walked around to the driver's side of the car to let himself in. Dutchy grinned into his hand and kind of coughed guiltily. Bumlets rolled his eyes, but glanced down at the signature in his line notes.

> _Next time, can I get your autograph for my sister? Kidding. Flexible is fun. Gabby_

He grinned as Specs let him in to the car.


	24. Thoughts

"Enjoying the scenery?"

David felt a slight blush creep up his face. "Uh..." he mumbled.

Race laughed and shoved him lightly. It was an evening swim, since Specs had arrived home to give the swim staff enough people to pull it off, and David was lounging on the beach, watching as Jack played a game of some sort of elaborate water tag with the boys in his cabin. Jack, of course, was wearing just his swimming shorts and was dripping wet and, David noted to himself, nearly glowing in the early evening, barely pre-sunset light.

"You could go play with them, you know," Race added, running his fingers through his hair to get some of the excess water out. "And if you _happened_to tackle him _by accident,_ who's gonna notice?"

David was pretty sure the slight blush was deep scarlet now. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, but it was hardly convincing, since Jack glanced over at them and caught his eye. And they both froze, like for a moment there was no one else in the world, and Jack smiled a huge, dazzling smile and David couldn't help but grin back.

Race snorted. "You two are gonna have to stop that if you don't want to get caught, you realize."

"I can't _help_ it."

"Yeah, yeah." Race chuckled. "And here, I thought you said you were _straight."_

"I _was._ I think I was." David pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin in his arms, still watching Jack. "I don't know. I haven't... I haven't even thought about, you know... Any of this yet."

"You mean you and he... Without thinking?"

"Yeah." David sighed. "I know, I know, it sounds bad, like some sort of fluke or mistake or... something. But it isn't, I know it isn't. He's..." David trailed  
off. "He's some kind of amazing, you know?"

"Yeah," Race agreed. "I know."

"And just... I dunno, it's a lot to think about. I don't even know where to start."

Race nodded a little, and then stood up. "I'm going back in. You should swim. I'm sure he'd like to see _you_ dripping wet, too."

David laughed, but didn't move. Instead, he just gazed out at the waterfront, letting his mind go blank. Specs was sitting out on the floating dock at the end of the deep end; Hotshot was treading water near by, apparently trying to carry on a conversation, though Specs was distracted by his lifeguard duty. And Dutchy was also lounging on the dock, putting in the occasional word, but he never really seemed to put in more than that.

Smurf was floating on her back just inside the deep end, staring up at the sky as it began to change colors. She was alone, which David thought was odd, because she always struck David as an incessant talker, and so she generally had someone around to talk _to._ So he searched out Trixie, not at all shocked to find her next to Mush, sitting on the main wooden dock while he and Blink were having some sort of animated discussion, which frequently degenerated into pouncing on and then trying to dunk each other.

He found that oddly fascinating.

And then he found the fact that he found that fascinating a little bit fascinating. Because on a beach full of girls in swim suits and bikinis, some of whom weren't bad looking at all, his eye was almost immediately drawn to the boys. And the way Mush and Blink were goofing around was almost... _cute._

He bit his lower lip a little, thinking, and continued to look around the waterfront. Jack was now giving Les a piggy back ride through the shallows, then propelling him through the air and into the water; and David noted with a slight satisfaction that his boyfriend got along with his little brother.

_Boyfriend._

Was Jack actually his _boyfriend?_ They liked each other, they'd kissed for an awfully long time, and when they' like it was as a couple, hadn't it? But did that actually make Jack his boyfriend, where they actually dating? Or were they just... guys who liked to kiss each other sometimes?

David watched Jack play in the water for another minute, then wade out, dripping wet, and grab his towel from the end of the dock. He wiped off quickly, did his best to get his hair to stop dripping, and made his way over to David and sat.

"You know, sand is gonna stick to me all over," he said, shooting David a grin. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," David answered quietly. "Just thinking about things."

"Oh." Jack leant back on his elbows in the sand. "You... Got anything worked out yet?"

"Not really. I don't know. It's just... hard to think about." He shot Jack a grin. "Especially when certain people are parading around in front of me, all wet and shiny."

"Shiny?" Jack asked.

"From the sunlight."

Jack kind of smiled. "Yeah, well.... a guy can show of for... For the guy he likes, right?"

David nodded absently, wondering what Jack meant by that. 'For the guy he likes' didn't sound like they were together. But the way he'd said it, it sounded like  
he'd substituted that for 'boyfriend' at last second.

"Sure," David said finally. "A guy can show off for his... You know, guy."

"David?" Jack asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"I don't _know,"_ David moaned. "I don't know anything."

"I'm sorry," Jack murmured.

"Don't be," David answered quickly, dragging his hand through the sand to place it over Jack's for just a moment. Their fingers intertwined, and David could feel every grain of sand between them, but abruptly they realized they weren't alone and jerked away. David sat up cross legged and Jack sprawled back in the sand, leaving almost too much space between them.

"I don't want to pressure you or anything," Jack said finally. "I know  
this is kind of a big deal, so... Just, don't worry about me."

David smiled. "I won't."

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden spray of sand caught both of them across the lap and chest.

"Oh, sorry, man!" In unison, they looked over to see Ian, holding a sandal loosely in one hand, then guiltily drop it back on the beach and slide his foot into it. "Just getting rid of some sand."

"Right," Jack agreed.

Ian grinned sheepishly. "Nice tan, Jack," he added, winked, then beat a retreat, only stumbling slightly as one of his sandals caught on a rock.

Jack laughed and kicked sand after him, then turned back to David, who raised an eyebrow. "Nice tan?" he repeated.

"You don't like it?" Jack answered easily. "The pale as a ghost thing works for you, but some of us don't fear the outdoors."

"I don't" David started, then sighed. "I'm outside _now._"

"Yeah, 'cause you're being forced into it. You're wearing a sweatshirt."

David shrugged and self consciously fiddled with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. It wasn't that he didn't like being outdoors, it was that somehow it was never warm enough for him, unless it was five degrees too hot for everyone else. He was prone to wearing long sleeves all summer, which not only kept him warm, but kept him from getting sunburned, too.

It was _practical._

"Ian winked at you," David said finally, changing the subject.

"Ian winks at everyone. He doesn't _mean_ anything by it."

"I never noticed that."

"Yeah, you should see him hit on Spot sometime. It makes smoke pour out of Spot's ears, he doesn't know how to react."

David chuckled. He could picture that. Spot wasn't actually a bad guy, just a little bit... Overly macho, David decided silently. Ian winking at him would probably shake him up a bit. And though he didn't know Ian well, David pictured _him_ as the sort who got kicks shaking people up.

"Anyway, everyone knows Ian's got a boyfriend back home, so it's just joking. Well, everyone except Spot. Someone should tell him someday..."

"He does?" David asked.

Jack nodded.

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean _everyone_ knows it, I just meant..."

"Everyone who's been around awhile?"

"Yeah," Jack said sheepishly. "Just think of it like this; you fit in here so well, I keep forgetting it's your first year."

"Yeah, that's what it is."

Jack shrugged and sat up to be even with David again, leant over and rest against him. "Jut loosen up a little, Davey. You really do fit in fine."

"You're sounding like my mom again." But David had a hard time minding when Jack was so close to him. He wanted to lean in to Jack, close the remaining space between them, but he knew better... And so did Jack, who straightened up.

"Well, uh..." Jack shrugged. "I should start rounding up my kids. Swim'll be over in a minute."

Jack gave David's hand a final slight touch before standing up and brushing himself off as he went to find the boys from his bunk.

*

David watched Ian carefully as everyone gathered for their late night snack. And then bit back a laugh as Ian, cookie in one hand, sat down next to Spot and traced a finger along his bicep.

"Hey baby."

Spot froze, then said, "Hi."

"How was your day?"

"Fine."

"Oh yeah?"

"Um... Yes."

Ian laughed and finally let go of Spot, who looked visibly relieved and beat a fast retreat. Hesitantly, David sat down where he'd been.

"Hey," he said.

"Yo," Ian answered. "What's up, Mouth?"

"You have to call me that?"

"I pretty much do, yeah."

David sighed. "Damn Skittery and his damn horses."

"I _like_ those horses," Ian answered.

"Apparently, so does everyone on the entire planet but me," David answered, a little surprised by himself. He hadn't really talked to Ian very much before, but  
having a conversation with him wasn't hard. It was actually kind of... easy.

"Well, maybe that means you're _wrong,"_ Ian pointed out.

"Or maybe I've got a sixth sense no one else does, and am the next chain on the evolutionary ladder."

"First you're a walking mouth, and now a mutant." Ian laughed.

David shrugged back, and finally said a little hesitantly, "Can I... Ask you something?"

"Yeah, shoot."

"How'd you meet your boyfriend?"

"Uh... Well..." Ian shrugged. "On the beach back home. He was taking surfing lessons and we kind of collided and he bought me a smoothie to apologize." He flashed a grin at David. "Why, what's up?" Ian asked, raising an eyebrow from underneath his backwards baseball cap.

"Just... curious." David shrugged.

Ian paused, then, "You can ask me, if you want. You wouldn't be the first. It doesn't offend me."

"Ask what?"

Ian waited.

And finally, David hazarded, "How did you know you're gay?"

"Right, well, not quite what I expected." Ian laughed. "I'm bi, actually." He shrugged. "I dunno, I guess I just realized one day that hey, I like boys. It wasn't a big deal or anything. Tell the truth, everyone else had kind of figured."

"So it was just... as easy as that? You looked around and..."

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I guess I'm lucky, none of my friends or family or anything was bothered by it. I guess it could've been harder, if I was worried about that."

"Oh."

Ian took a bit out of his cookie. "Anyway, it's not such a big deal, the way people make it out to be. Just a part of me, not the whole thing."

David nodded a little bit. Ian ate more of his cookie.

"Should I ask why it's on your mind?"

"No... No reason."

"Okay," Ian answered. "Just wondering, 'cause you're kind of cute, really." Ian winked at him.

David gaped for a moment.

Then he laughed.

*

He was staring up at the ceiling, but couldn't sleep.

Was it really that easy?

David tried to push emotions out of his mind and to think logically. _If A, then B,_ he mused. _I'm attracted to Jack, therefore..._

But there had to be more to it than that, didn't there? It couldn't just be that easy. He had never been gay _before,_ that he could remember. He'd always liked girls before.

He paused on that thought.

Really, he had trouble thinking of girls he'd actually wanted to _date._ He couldn't think of anyone who made him feel like Jack did, who he wanted to spend all his time with and who made him feel like he was funny and interesting and kind of _cool,_ not just some sarcastic loner...

_Well, in my mind I've moved from 'loser' to 'loner', so maybe camp _ is_ good for my self-esteem,_ he mused, and closed his eyes. Apparently, camp hadn't dampened his sarcasm any.

But the fact remained, he couldn't think of a single girl he'd had a crush on since Carolyn Johnson in eighth grade. So he thought of herdyed blond hair, trendy outfits, and lots of gossip sprung to mind. Which was strange, now that he thought about it, because he hated that. Carolyn was kind of the anti-Jack, aside from being a girl; Jack was so laid back and genuine, where Carolyn, from what David had observed since his crush had died away, was uptight about a lot of things, particularly about how she looked, and how much attention she got from her boyfriend.

David couldn't really picture her smiling and telling him not to worry, that she didn't want to pressure him about something which, no matter _what_ Ian said, felt absolutely huge.

What had he seen in Carolyn anyway?

He tried to remember. It had been eighth grade, he'd been known to almost everyone in his class as Sarah's Brother, which was irritating enough. He'd been teased, occasionally; nothing of extreme, after school drama proportion, but enough that he knew he was different from everyone else. And in eighth grade, he remembered almost painfully, all he'd wanted was to be normal.

He'd stopped caring by the end of the year, really; no amount of worrying about what Sarah's friends thought of him was going to make him cool. And since he refused to stop raising his hand in class or reading during lunch, there wasn't anything he could do about it, anyway.

But all of the other boys he knewthe _normal_ onesthey all seemed to think Carolyn was, "a total babe". And for all David wondered who actually _talked_ like that...

He shook his head slightly, wondering if he'd really been that said in eighth grade. Middle school hadn't been great for him, but it had never occurred to him he'd had a crush that had been close to humiliating on someone who'd never have looked twice at him out of an urge to be _normal._

If that was normal, he decided, let the normal people have it.

He sat up, and slowly slid down and out of bed, and groped around in the dark for the clothes he'd kicked off at bedtime, and as he pulled on his discarded jeans, heard Racetrack sit up.

"What's up?" Race asked quietly.

"Nothing."

"You going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Uh... Okay, then."

"G'night."

"'Night."

And David walked out of the cabin, relatively certain that Racetrack wouldn't rat him out. And anyway, how bad could the punishment for sneaking out be.

*

Someone was shaking his shoulders. Jack snorted a little and sat up, and a hand covered his mouth immediately. His eyes flew open and he saw...

David.

He nodded a little, and David dropped his hand and grinned. "Hey you,"  
he murmured, nearly under his breath.

Jack broke into a wide smile and gestured to the door to the cabin, and they both made their way outside. "Everything all right?" Jack asked, as he slipped his hand into David's and they sat on the slight stoop outside the cabin.

"Everything's better than all right," David answered. "Everything's the best it's been in a long time."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked.

"Yeah." David nodded a little and leaned in close to Jack, kissed him lightly. Jack shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around David, for a change envying David's long sleeves. He was wearing just the pair of pajama pants he slept in, and it was a bit chilly out without the sun. But he huddled close to David and smiled against David's skin.

"I think I'm done thinking," David murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm gay."

"Oh, well... Can't say I'm disappointed."

"You know, I'm not either."

Jack glanced up at the moon, almost hidden behind tree branches and leaves, and then back at David, who was looking at him, smiling, blushing a tiny bit.

"You snuck out to tell me that?" Jack asked.

"I snuck out to see you."

"I suppose as I counselor, I should send you back to bed, huh?"

David nodded a little, but he didn't see too concerned.

Jack kissed him. "Screw responsibility for now," he said between quick  
kisses. "I really like you."

"Screw responsibility," David repeated. "I like this better."

"Me too."

"One question."

"Uh... Okay?"

"Does this mean we're... together?"

Jack shrugged. "If you want it to mean that... I'd like that."

David ran a finger across Jack's hand, feeling the bones in his knuckles. "I think I'd like that too."

"Well, then."

"Well." David paused. "I think I really like you too, Jack."

Jack just grinned at him and then kissed him gently. That seemed to be all they needed to say, and David couldn't really think of anything else to add. So they sat quietly, nestled together, just enjoying being together_really_ being togetheruntil someone in Jack's bunk coughed.

Jack sighed. "So, I guess... I mean, you should go before whoever's on patrol comes by."

"And you should go back to pretending to be responsible," David answered, grinning, and Jack couldn't help but notice the moonlight glinting off his eyes. It was quite a sight, really. Jack squeezed his hand.

"G'night, Davey."

"'Night, Jack."

They stood up and kissed again, and Jack watched as David retreated down the path, back to his own cabin.

And as he headed back to bed, he definitely felt better than he had in a long, long time.


	25. Good Eating

David stumbled into breakfast half-awake as usual, but as they were on their way in, Race grabbed his arm. "Come on, you get to sit with us today. Mom's already told your table."

"What?" David asked, not quite comprehending what Race was talking about, as he hadn't had his coffee yet or a lot of sleep the previous night.

"My brothers are starting to get here." Race rolled his eyes. "So they  
get to suffer through camp food too."

"Oh."

Race led him to the Higgins family's usual table, which had been extended and had extra chairs pushed in. As always, Mrs. Higgins sat at the head of the table and her husband took the foot. Race chose a seat next to his father and so David sat next to him, and the next thing he knew, the table was buzzing with people.

He was a bit surprised, though. Most of the people looked nothing like Race or his parents... He glanced at Mrs. Higgins again and saw that Race looked like her, with dark hair and eyes and slightly olive skin, and that the only other person he recognizedthe DJ from the dancealso looked like them. But Race's father had dark red hair and pale skin, with light blue eyes, and none of the other people at the table did. At a guess, he'd have said the other two men were Asian and Indian respectively.

"Tony!"

"Hey, Tony!"

Race opened his mouth to answer, but as one of them walked over to sit down, he wrapped Race in a headlock and ground his fist in Race's hair, and Race winced from the noogie. _"Hi," _he answered grumpily.

"Mom, Gary went out to breakfast," the other brother announced. "He took a few of the kids, said something about hating uncooked pancakes."

"He didn't ask _me_ to go," the DJ sulked. "I hate uncooked pancakes."

"Yes, but it isn't _Gary's_ mother's birthday, now is it?" Mrs. Higgins demanded.

He coughed uncomfortably.

Race sighed. "Dave, that's Mark" the DJ, "Chris" the Asian  
brother, who'd given him the noogie, "and Dan. Mike is over there, bothering Sneakers." He pointed vaguely, and sure enough, a redhead David had never seen before was sitting at Sneakers' table. David judged them to be about the same age.

"Oh, so Mike can sit wherever he wants, but I can'tSorry, mom," Mark said, stopping abruptly at a dark look from his mother.

"Well, that's all right, sweetie," she said finally. "If you don't want to be here, I certainly wouldn't _make_ you."

"No, no. I definitely want to." He grinned at her, which was a grin David recognized because Race used it, too. It seemed to David to be something along the lines of, 'How could you possibly yell at someone so charming?' "Seriously, Mom. Happy birthday." And the grin again.

She sighed. David imagined that dealing with two of themor however many of the brothers had that grin downhad been a long, trying experience for her.

"Well, I'm glad you were able to make the trip."

"It's the least I can do, Mom." He coughed slightly. "Since I didn't get you a present or anything."

She rolled her eyes, Chris elbowed him in the ribs, and judging by the  
"OW!" he let out, Race kicked him under the table. He glared at Race. "Well, what did _you_ get her?" he demanded.

"I've been _here,_" Race answered.

"So nothing, then?" Mark scoffed.

"At least he has an excuse," Mr. Higgins mused.

"Dad!" Mark objected. He got a shrug in response.

Mrs. Higgins got up to start the meal with grace, and Mark kicked Race under the table. David blocked them out, and just glanced longingly at the coffee urn.

*

By lunch, more people had gathered. David wasn't sure if it was more brothers, or just their extended families, but as he glanced around the dining hall he saw  
more unfamiliar faces. Mike, who had been at Sneakers' table that morning was back, now sitting next to the formerly absent Gary, who turned out to not be a brother, but Mike's partner, and David remembered vaguely Race telling him that one of his brothers was gay. Two women seemed to go with two of the brothers, and one of them was holding a child who seemed too young to do anything but cry.

Aside from the girls, Gary and the baby, a tall, broad shouldered blond greeted Race by jumping on his back and knocking them both over.

Race picked himself up, and as he did so Chris snuck up behind him, and pushed him back into the blond, who pinned his arms to the side for Chris to tweak his  
nose none too gently. Racetrack, David noted, did _not_ look like a happy camper.

He was glowering at the world in general by the time he sat down and David sat down next to him. "Dave, that's Paul. He has no direction in life and is going to work at crappy minimum wage jobs until he dies," he said.

"Harsh, bro. _Real_ harsh."

"Also right."

"Anthony," his mother scolded.

Race rolled his eyes, then pointed to the girls, sitting at other tables because there was no room at their own. "Amber somehow got tricked into marrying Chris," he explained, and Chris flicked water out of his cup at him. "And their son, Tom, is the one crying. I'd cry too if I had to deal with _that_ every day." More water flicked in his direction. The other woman was with Dan, his serious girlfriend, apparently.

And then halfway through lunch, another brother showed up, this time with a wife and two children. He was tall and pasty, with his father's red hair, but the woman looked like a model. And Mrs. Higgins found herself surrounded by grandchildrencertainly looking more cheerful than she did with just her sonsand hand painted, messy cards handed to her.

"Uh... Steve, his wife who's too pretty for him, and Ariel and Tina are the girls."

Steve playfully smacked Race's shoulder, and found seats for his wife and the girls at various tables and took the last seat at their table. "Josh is running late," he said, after greeting his parents and brothers.

"Josh is chronically late," Chris answered. "Among other things."

"Chris," Mrs. Higgins scolded. "Josh has three children. He really can't be _expected_ to be on time."

"I have a kid. _I'm_ on time."

"Your kid isn't old enough to walk," Steven said tiredly. "Just wait until you're chasing him all over the house to try and get him in the car."

Chris rolled his eyes, Race smirked into his water glass, and David wondered what the backstory behind _that_ was.

By the time dinner ended, he'd wish he hadn't cared.

*

"I'll drive!"

"I've got the van! I can"

"Van's full of kids, someone take the camp van"

"I _got_ the van!"

"Yeah, but you suck, so"

"What? I can drive! I also said, like, ten minutes ago that someone should take a camp van because Steve's van is full of kids and Josh's truck is also full of kids and brothers and Gary's car is"

"Yes, but no one cares what you say, and also, you can't drive."

Mark glared at Paul, or at least, David was relatively certain it was Paul. It was the blond one, whichever one that was. He leaned over to Race.

"Um... I'm never, ever going to be able to learn all of these people's names."

"Yeah, don't worry. I only just learned them last year, swear to God." Race rolled his eyes, and then muttered, "I swear I'm going to put my hands over my ears and start yelling 'la la la, I can't hear you,' to all this."

"I think that, uh... what's his name is doing it for you." David gestured.

Mark was holding his hands over his ears. "La la la, I can't hear you!"

"I said" maybe-Paul said, pulling away one of Mark's hands and yelling directly into his ear, "I SAID, 'YOU SUCK AT DRIVING.'"

Which caused Mark to punch him, hard, in the stomach, so Paul retaliated by smacking him upside the head and it would probably have degenerated into a fist fight if Mrs. Higgins hadn't walked by and glared at them. They fell still immediately.

"Dan is taking one of the camp vans, you two will not sit next to each other for fear of heavy bruising. Tony!"

"Yes, Mom?"

"Sit between them."

"Hey, _I _don't wanna get bruised either" Glare. "Yes, okay, sure thing, Mom."

"Thank you, darling." She turned to maybe-Paul and almost-certainly-Mark and announced, "You see, if you two could be half as mature as your younger brother..."

"Mom!" Race yelped. "Are you _trying_ to get me beat up?"

But she'd already been whisked away by a handful of grandchildren, and the next thing David knew, maybe-Paul and almost-certainly-Mark were taking turns punching their youngest brother, who was trying unsuccessfully to scramble out from between them. Except that Paul seemed a bit muscle-y and his grip on Race's shoulder was vice-like.

"I didn't do anything!" Race protested, and finally gave in and punched Mark and then kicked Paul's shin.

"Uh huh," Paul said skeptically, as one of the other brothers approached.

"Hey, are we beating Tony?" he asked.

"No!" Race yelped.

"Yes," Mark answered and punched Race again.

"Aww, be nice." The brotherJosh? Mike? Honestly, David had no ideapulled Race into a giant fake hug. "We don't want to hurt Mommy's Fav-wit Widdle Boy, do we?"

"Get off me!" Race shoved him away and dashed over to hide behind David.

"Boys!" Mrs. Higgins voice cut through all of the scuffling and the noise. "Cars now, please, and anyone who gets left behind... I don't really care, so stop arguing!"

So everyone got dragged into different vans and cars, and it took about four different ones to get the whole family into something with wheels. Race was indeed shoved in the middle seat in one of the camp's mini-vans, with Mark the DJ (David was pretty sure) and Paul the blond one (David was less sure) on either side of him. The darker skinned brother David has pegged as Indian was driving, but damned if David had any idea what his name was; and Gary was riding shotgun. David was piled into the back most set of seats, with two young girls next to him, who seemed to remember as the daughters of the oldest brother, but he wasn't any more sure of that than he was of anyone's name.

The girls were giggling in high pitched tones and braiding each other's hairor something like thatwhile Paul and Mark seemed to have invented their own version of ping pong, with Racetrack as the ball. Or something. It seemed to consist of Paul smacking Race's head and then Mark shoving Race back at Paul, who hit him again.

Racetrack was clearly biting down swear words because of the girls in the car, and finally Dan (well, David thought it was Dan) turned around to yell at them. "I'm trying to drive here, so if you two would stop abusing the baby"

"I'm _not_"

"Shut up!"

Everyone fell silent for a few second, then Racetrack let out an explosive, "OW! You JERK!" and turned towards Paul, snatched the magazine from him and began to beat him over the head with it. But Mark grabbed him and made him stop, but for a change neither one of the brothers retaliated. The sulked in silence (with the exception of the little girls still squeaking) and David shook his head in wonder. He hadn't pictured Race as taking quite so much abuse at home, but then again, David only had a younger brother.

Race ran a hand through his hair, and the driver commented, "It really isn't fair, you know."

"What?" Gary asked.

"Tony." Dan glanced back at them. "He's so Mom's favorite, it isn't even"

"Dan, lay off," Race said. "I'm not, you _know_ I'm not."

Paul made a slightly amused noise. "No, no, you're not her favorite at _all._ She just thinks you're the most perfect, smartest, most responsible"

"Okay, in all fairness, he _is_ more responsible than you are," Mark pointed out, and Paul reached over Race to whap him.

"Yeah, but I'm just saying. God, Tony, can't you be bad at _something?"_

"I'm bad at lots of things. She yells at me all the time."

"Yeah, right."

"Hey, guys." It was almost the first thing Gary had said all day, so far as David knew. "You guys want to lay off him? He can't control what your mom does." Which earned him only glares in return. He rolled his eyes. "What, was that a brother thing I wasn't supposed to comment on?"

"Shut up," Dan snapped.

Gary shrugged. "I'm just saying, speaking as an in-law who doesn't have to compete for a mother's love or anything, you're mean."

"We don't have to compete for anything," Paul said. "Mom loves us all."

"She just loves Tony best."

"Hey!" Race yelled, and it was an actual yell that caused everyone else in the car to fall silent. "Look, I don't know what you guys think, but Mom is _way_ harsher on me than she ever has been on anyone else. _Everyone_ got away with... with breaking curfew or playing cards or swearing at least a few times, but I say or do _anything_ not perfect and she's breathing down my neck. I'm not allowed to do _anything_ fun and I have to do _everything_ she wants or I'm just grounded, no chance to even defend myself."

"Awww, poor baby," Dan finally said, after thinking about it for a few seconds.

Race groaned and shrunk down in his seat. And David was kind of glad no one seemed to remember he existed.

Dinner was being held at a classy Italian restaurant, the kind that made David feel guilty to order anything more than soup and salad because it was all quite expensive. The restaurant overlooked a lake front view, with lights strung up outside to make everything even prettier, and David _did_ have to admit the place had ambiance.

Or at least, it would have, if the Higgins family hadn't been there.

David was smart enough not to say that out loud, though.

"and I don't see how you can _possibly_ justify or moralize working for a man who"

"Well if you would _listen_ to me I would _explain_ but you'd rather stick your finger in your ears and ignore the"

"Tina, stop pulling Ariel's hair, Ariel, dear, if you'd"

"Oops Daddy I spilled!"

"the senator is _not_ a bigot and if you'd just _listen_ and stop trying to muckrake, you filthy yellow"

"Does this shirt smell like coffee? I swear I've washed it five hundred times but"

"Daddy, Aaron spilled again! _Ewwwwww_ it's on _me!"_

"No, no, you're not _listening_ to me, you're so convinced that a politician can't possibly have genuine morals that"

"Scared yet?" Race asked mildly.

"It's not... _scary..."_

Mark, sitting on David's other side, shook his head. "It's more just insanity, right? It's usually so much worse than this. Honestly, Josh and Chris..."

"Who?" David asked.

Race nodded towards the two brothers who'd been screaming at each other about politics, seemingly without pausing for breath or to listen to each other, for a good twenty minutes now. "Josh works for Senator Blakesfield; Chris writes for the Metro Insider. And the two are kind of..."

"Sworn enemies?" Mark suggested. Race nodded.

"you _stupid irresponsible republican"_

"Irre_sponsible?_ Oh, oh, like a _journalist_ has an right to call anyone _else_ irresponsible!"

"We try not to let them in the same room too often. This _always_ happens."

"Okaaay." David blinked a few times. "Who's...?"

Race nodded and began to point. His mother was at the head of the table and his father at the foot. Racetrack, David and Mark sat on one side of the table, and further down the side were Steventhe oldest brother, who looked a lot like his fatherand Alyssa, his wife, and between them were their two daughters.

The other side of the table had Josh and Chris, somehow sitting right next to each other (probably better for yelling in each other's faces, David thought); Josh resembled his mother and Chris was adopted. There were women on either side of them, and several children in high chairs, and further down the table were Mike and Gary, who David reminded himself was an in-law and not just another adopted brother, and finally Dan and Paul.

"I'm never, ever going to remember that."

"Yeah, just yelling 'hey you' works surprisingly well," Mark noted. "Well, we call Tony the baby, usually, and Steve is just 'hey old guy,' at this point. Chris calls Josh 'that _Republican,'_ and Josh calls _him_ 'the idiot writer.'"

"Mike and Gary are, well, Mike'n'Gary, really," Race added. "And Paul is Jock-boy."

"Or Blondie."

"Or Beckham Wannabe."

"Or Pele Wannabe."

"Or"

"So he plays soccer, then?" David interrupted, since he was pretty sure they were just going to go on.

"How'd you guess?"

David shook his head; he gathered that Mark and Racetrack were the two youngest brothers; they looked alike, and sounded alike, and were only a few years apart  
in age. And they kind of _acted_ alike. Sitting between them was a bit eerie.

"Did we miss any?" Mark asked.

"Well, we used to call Dan Apu, but then Mom forbade me to watch the Simpsons anymore."

"That seems harsh," David said.

"Especially because it was last year, and, you know, you'd think any damage had already been done." Race rolled his eyes.

"I am _so_ glad I'm not living at home any more." Mark shot a look down the table at their mother, slightly paranoid she might have heard that over the din of Josh and Chris, who had degenerated into outright name-calling.

"Lucky you," Race mumbled.

"Dude, Tony, get a job at another camp next summer. You know, one where she _can't_ control your life." He paused. "If she'd let you." Pause. "Which she probably wouldn't, come to think of it."

Race groaned. "No kidding. Seriously, she never lets me do anything." He scowled. "Except for when she makes me do a bunch of crap I don't want to."

"Like.... Like what?"

"Oh, don't get him started..."

But Race continued darkly, "Like drama at school, and soccer. Just because _Paul_ played soccer, she thinks I should. And student council, which is so freaking stupid and never does anything. _And_ she makes me take all advanced classes and grounds me if my GPA drops below 3.3, which is really freaking _hard_ to keep up because they're _all advanced classes,_ plus working at the crisis line which is the only thing I _want_ to do and I barely have time for."

David blinked a few times. "Oh. Is _that_ all?"

He'd meant it to be sarcastic.

"No. We're not even talking yet about how she volunteers me to babysit for her friends' kids all the time, when I had other plans and don't have time _anyway._ Or"

"Tony!" Mark hissed, and Race shut up suddenly. Their mother was staring at him.

He coughed guiltily. "Uh... So... When do you think dinner is gonna be  
here?" he asked innocently, and shot is mother that grin again.

She raised an eyebrow, and turned back to her grandchildren, sitting next to her.

"How much of that rant do you think she heard?" Mark mused.

"Oh, I am so _dead."_

"You really, really are."

"Hey, you could try and have some sympathy here!"

"...Not really, no." Mark shook his head and reached for a piece of bread. "I'm not even _touching_ that if she heard you, bro."

"Great, well, this really couldn't get a whole lot _worse..."_

"Hey, hey, Tony!"

Race looked up to see Mike (of Mike'n'Gary, David reminded himself) yelling at him.

"Tony, what happened to that kid you used to bring with you every year? The one you had a crush on?"

Race blinked. "The oneI _what?_"

Mike shrugged. "You always seemed to have a crush on him to _me._ You know, pretty guy, habitually wore a bandana...?"

"Yeah, Jack, I know who you mean, but I did _not..."_ Race sighed. "Jack's a counselor now, anyway."

"Oooh. And hey, no counselor-camper relationships, right?"

"I did not have a crush on Jack!"

"Uh huh." Mike raised his eyebrows, Race blushed so hard it looked like he might almost explode, and everyone kind of stared at them.

Mike shrugged. "Okay, then. Just wondering where he was. Who's the new  
guy?"

"Uh..."

All eyes turned to David, and Race shrugged. "Dave, the family; everyone... David. Be nice, he's skittish."

"Really?" JoshDavid only knew it was Josh because he was one of the ones who kept yelling about politicsasked. "David, are you a registered voter? Don't you feel that"

"Oh lay off, he's just a kid, you fascist"

"_Who_ are you calling a facist, you commie"

"Boys!" Mrs. Higgins snapped, and as always happened, silence.

David cleared his throat. "I, uh, am only sixteen."

"Oh, well then. Of course, I hope you realize the importance of keeping informed even when too young to vote, because"

"Oh _can it,_ Joshua," snapped one of the wives, who David _hoped_ was married to Josh, but honestly, he had no idea.

Josh shrugged sheepishly. "Occupational hazard. At least _I'm_ patriotic." He shot a look at Chris, and then, "OW! You didn't have to kick me! What are you, _twelve?_...Ow! Mom!"

Mrs. Higgins rolled her eyes. "Honestly, boys, you're in your late twenties; if you need me to break up your fights..."

"Yeah, _Josh._ Be more _mature."_ Beat. _"Ow!"_

"Oh for the love of... Dan, trade seats with Chris, please. Could you please try not to ruin my birthday, if possible?"

"Sorry, Mom," they both apologized quickly as the seat trade was made.

David glanced at Race, who shrugged. "Should have seen that coming," he noted.

"Why they ignored the rules..." Mark sighed, and turned to David. "There are rules. Josh and Chris can't sit together, obviously. Paul and I don't sit next to each other, because he brings out the worst in me."

Race snickered, and Mark glared at him.

"Tony can't sit near Chris or Dan, because they're mean to him."

Race rolled his eyes. "You're _all_ mean to me."

"They're worse. You're my favorite brother." Mark smirked. "You're the only one who's younger than me."

"Shut up."

"Awwww, is the poor widdle baby"

"Shut _up."_

"Those were your first words, weren't they?" David asked.

Race smiled a little bit and Mark, who had been trying to take a drink of water began to laugh and slightly choke. He coughed and took a drink and said, "Actually, his first word was, 'stop!'"

"Well, that's understandable too," David noted.

"And he woke us up every morning _yelling_ it at the top of his lungs."

"Probably I was being _tortured."_

"Oh oh!" One of the brothers whose name David hadn't learned jumped in. "Are we telling embarrassing Tony stories?"

"No!"

"Yes, oh we _so_ are," Mark agreed.

But like some sort of miracle, the waiter arrived with their mealsmore food that David had ever seen in one place before, he thought, which was remarkable given that his mother had Good Jewish Mother Syndrome and tended to cook enough so that an invading army could be fed, should they knock on the door, even when it was only the five of them at home.

"FOOD!"

David had no idea who'd yelled it, but he was pretty sure it was about four of them. And Josh and Chris went silent about politics as they salivated, Mark and whichever brother had been tormenting Race (and Race himself) all stared at the waiter, and even the children went nearly silent.

It was probably the quietest the restaurant was all evening.

*

It seemed oddly quiet after all the noise of dinner as Race and David walked from the parking lot back down to their bunk.

"So... traumatized?" Race asked.

"Not... Really..." David shrugged. "It was different. Kind of... Loud. I mean, but your family is really... interesting."

"That's one way of putting it."

The grass crunched over their feet and David could feel some slight dew beginning to soak through his sneakers. "Um... What was it your one brother said?"

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"About you. And Jack."

"Oh, Mike. Uh, he..." He shrugged. "He always joked about how cute Jack was, said Jack tipped his gaydar. And he was right, but he's been teasing me about it for years, saying I've got a crush on him and all."

"Oh. That's all?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The silence was a little awkward, and finally Racetrack sighed.

"He's a real great guy, David, like a brother to me. As if I didn't have enough of them already. I'm happy for you two."

"Thanks." David smiled a little bit. "You okay, Race? Your brothers seemed to kind of overwhelm you a bit."

"If by 'overwhelm' you mean 'beat up'..." He laughed. "Yeah, I just need a few days to recover."

They slipped into the bunk quietly. David was full and content, though definitely overwhelmed, and Racetrack was just quiet. Somehow, the louder his family got,  
the quieter he was at the end of the night.


	26. Friends and Relations

David couldn't help but think the whole camp was reflecting Race's mood. Which, he mused, seemed oddly appropriate, since Racetrack seemed to be so much a part of the camp. But it was undeniable; despite the joyous shrieks of the younger campers, it seemed like all of the seniors were feeling particularly mellow.

Racetrack seemed to still be in recover from his family; it didn't help that a handful of brothers--David didn't bother to pretend he knew which ones--had decided to stick around for a few days. The sheer number of noogies and amount of loving abuse he took was astonishing; almost as astonishing as how it seemed to affect him. David would have expected Race to laugh it off, but the longer his brothers stayed, the more silent Race became. David just wasn't sure if it was depressed silence or angry silence, or maybe depressed silence that would lead to him snapping at any moment, pissed off.

David glanced around the dining hall, where people were gathered for their usual late-night snack. It definitely seemed more mellow than usual. Blink, rather than joking loudly with anyone who would talk to him, was sitting off at a table silently, clutching but not drinking a cup of cocoa. Blink not talking was kind of shocking. Almost as shocking as Smurf not talking.

David thought for a minute. He thought that the mood was Racetrack's, but Smurf and Blink had both been quiet and withdrawn--as much as either of them seemed capable of being quiet or withdrawn--for a few days. He frowned slightly and wondered what had happened and who might know.

But Racetrack was quiet, and Smurf and Blink were quiet, and Trixie attempting to make physical contact with Mush at the moment, so they were both quiet too.

There was some muted conversation from other seniors, but it all seemed subdued.

David went back to the notebook in front of him, and idly stirred his coffee. He picked up his pen and scrawled _Dear Mom and Dad,_ before dropping it again and taking a sip of coffee. Writing to his parents seemed kind of pointless... After all, they were coming for parents' weekend the next day. To see the camp, see their children, watch Les in _Oliver!_ and take Sarah home.

David was kind of even looking forward to seeing them. Except... They'd be at _camp._ They'd meet all of his friends. They'd meet Jack. And there was absolutely no way they'd do anything like embarrass him. Because they definitely had never accidentally humiliated him in front of his friends, classmates or crushes before.

He stirred his coffee and found himself suddenly full of apprehension.

Yeah, his parents visiting and meeting Jack. Absolutely no way that could go wrong.

*

Mayer and Esther arrived during dress rehearsal, though David didn't know that until he emerged from backstage, still wearing part of his costume. He glanced around the theater for Triage, who had her own sewing machine and had taken up residence in the theater seats so she could help finish up costumes, as she'd promised to adjust his vest so it would stop falling off his shoulders. And he found her chatting away merrily with his mother.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised. But he did glance back up at the stage, where Les was receiving a few final notes from Medda, and then picked his way past the rickety theater bench seats and stopped in the aisle next to his parent.

He coughed conspicuously. "Hey," he said.

"David, _bubula_!"

And the next thing he knew, he was wrapped in his mother's arms, as she kissed his cheeks and greeted him like she hadn't seen him in a month. Which, it occurred to David, she hadn't. He gave her the quick obligatory kiss on the cheek in response, and Les came skipping over and got much the same treatment, as David shed his vest. Free of his costume, he led his mother back outside, to see his father sitting on a rickety rocking chair on the porch, waiting for his family. His father gave him a hug, and ruffled his hair like he was a little kid, and it was only mildly embarrassing.

"Now, where would we find your sister?" Mayer asked, after they were done saying hello.

"Uh... Riding?" David guessed.

"Yeah!" Les agreed enthusiastically. "And if we go to riding, you can meet Cowboy! He's my counselor, he's real great."

And David even managed not to wince.

"So do you go to riding often?" Esther asked Les.

"Yup, I got a lesson everyday. Cowboy doesn't teach me riding, though, Morris does, but I like it when he's gone for the day because then Rebel does riding with  
us, and she isn't so bad, for a girl, but I still like Cowboy best."

Esther glanced at David, who rolled his eyes slightly, but he was used to Les's enthusiasm by now.

"And you, David? Do you go to riding?"

"Uh... No?"

"David--"

"Davey went to the stable and tried to pet a horse but he was a wimp and fell down and now everyone calls him Mouth," Les interrupted, and David wasn't sure if  
he'd rather have his parents know about that or scold him for his fear of horses. Though at least Les was fairly cryptic, if unintentionally.

"And what does that mean, Dave?" his father asked.

David shrugged innocently. "Well, everyone else in my bunk had a nickname; I was tired of being out of place, anyway."

"David, that's _wonderful!_ Now, I told you that if you just put your mind to it--"

"Yeah, yeah." David rolled his eyes again, which he realized he did about a thousand times more often when his family was around. But they were getting close to the stables now, and Les danced on ahead, urging his family to walk faster. The pace was picked up, if only slightly, and they arrived.

David hesitated as his family walked in to the riding area; on the one hand, he still didn't really want to be surrounded by horses, on the other hand, he could see Jack leading a horse with a vaguely terrified looking seven-year-old atop. He couldn't hear Jack's voice, but could see easily that Jack was talking calmly, keeping the kid from freaking out, while he expertly controlled the horse.

Not far from there, Sarah was leaning on the area's gate, watching Jack with a predator-like expression on her face. And David almost had to smirk, because no  
matter how hard she tried, Sarah really wasn't going to get anywhere with him.

David cleared his throat. "That," he said, pointing slightly, "would be the infamous Cowboy. And I think that's my sister, but frankly, I try not to say that too loudly."

"David!" Esther scolded, and waved over Sarah, who reluctantly abandoned her Jack-watching post and walked over. She was greeted as enthusiastically as the boys had been, although her reaction was definitely less so. But David barely noticed, because he was watching as Jack helped the camper down off the horse, and had a quiet but excited conversation with the kid. He gave the kid a pat on the back, the horse a pat on the nose, and then led the horse over to where the Jacobs family was having their reunion.

"Cowboy!" Les exclaimed excitedly. "This is my mom and my dad."

Jack nodded a little. "Nice to meet you," he said, and with an exaggerated tip of his cowboy hat added, "Ma'am," to Esther, who laughed the same way that Sarah--and half the girls at camp--did whenever Jack spoke to them.

David smiled a little bit at that. For all Racetrack kept saying they were too obvious and were going to get caught, Jack had too much of a reputation as a lady killer for David to really worry about it.

"So _you're_ Cowboy, we've hear so much about you," Esther gushed.

"Good things, I hope," Jack answered.

"Oh Jack, what else could anyone say about you?" Sarah said, and giggled slightly.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You're too kind, really." He turned his gaze quickly to David, and his grin became genuine. "You know, Davey, so long as you're here in riding _anyway..."_

"I don't think so," David answered quickly.

Jack glanced at the parents watching. "Don't worry; I'll get him riding by the end of the summer. Just you wait."

"Oh, that would be _wonderful._ We keep telling David that if he'd just have a little more _confidence_ in himself--"

"Mom!" David interrupted quickly.

Jack laughed a little, and David scowled, but Jack just smiled back fondly at him. "I know what you mean, Mrs. Jacobs," he said. "This is my tenth summer here--I've met lots of kids who start the summer off shy and end up so confident they never want to go home. So everyone is helping Davey with that confidence problem all the time."

"Jack!" David yelped. That was not exactly what he wanted to hear his boyfriend say about him to anyone, let alone his parents.

"Oh, so _you're_ Jack," Mayer said, coming to the realization. "Well, who'd have thought Davey would end up such good friends with a riding counselor?"

"Dad..." David whined.

"Oh, Dave here has made _lots_ of interesting friends," Jack promised. "I'm sure if he takes you around camp, you'll meet all of them."

"Well, that sounds like a good plan," Mayer agreed. "It was nice to meet you, Cowboy."

"You too, Mr. Jacobs," Jack answered sincerely, tipped his hat again, and led the horse back towards the stables.

*

More parents began to flood the camp, and David slowly discovered his bunkmates' families.

Skittery was flanked by parents who sported thick Long Island accents, and a sister who was walking around camp in high heels, complaining loudly about bugs. Skittery looked kind of like he wanted to kill himself, and David nodded with sympathy.

Snitch, apparently, was from the Midwest somewhere and his folks couldn't fly out too meet him, but he was spending the day hanging out with Swinger and her family--they were from the next town over and knew him anyway, he explained. (Though he only explained it after Swinger spent five minutes also explaining it, but rather ineffectually, since no one understood a word she said.)

Mush's family, it turned out, was almost as large and psychotic as Race's, though they weren't all present. His father and a younger brother, apparently named Sheppard, were there to visit and to see his performance that night in _Oliver!_, but his mother and three sisters (referred to as Faith, Hope and Charity; David noticed a theme in their names and couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, Mush's given name was) were at another camp, visiting Hope, whose parents' day was the same as Mush's.

Blink evened them out, though; he was an only child who lived with his father. David wondered what had happened to his mother--so far as he knew, Blink hadn't received any letters from her, and he'd never heard Blink mention her--but he didn't really just want to _ask_ so bluntly.

His parents were sufficiently impressed by the camp and the staff, as David noticed a few more unfamiliar faces. Second session campers had begun to arrive. David saw one boy who looked almost like he could be David's own cousin--slightly gangly with thick, curly hair. David didn't catch his name, but he had already moved into Ferguson by the time they met.

The other person he noticed was a girl who was hanging out first with Trixie and then with Smurf, and then he saw the three of them together. Smurf and Trixie didn't seem to be speaking to each other directly, but as far as David remembered, that was the first time they'd really spoken to each other at _all_ since the incident between those two and Blink, which David _still_ didn't know all the details of.

The show was set to go on at seven, and the cast got an early dinner at five so they could start getting ready at six. Medda had even ordered pizza for them--and non-camp food was always a reason to be excited. David found himself sitting around the theater, scarfing down pizza and Coke with Mush, Blink, Trixie and a few of the other senior campers, and for just a moment was shocked.

He pictured it from his parents' perspective. There was their awkward, loner son, and instead of sitting off by himself wishing he could be at home, reading or writing or just avoiding everyone else, he was sitting with friends, and joking, and laughing. And he genuinely wanted to be there.

He smiled behind his can of Coke and relaxed.

*

David had to admit, it was kind of shocking how well the show went, given it had been put together in a week. Only a few cast members dropped lines, and thank to the hours Bumlets had spent drilling them (David was pretty sure it had been three full days) the dancing was spectacular.

Well, almost. But David really didn't have to dance very much, so it was okay. Though Bumlets _did_ keep giving him dirty looks...

On the other hand, the acting was nearly flawless, dropped lines aside. Mush hit his role perfectly, almost creepy enough to give David the chills, seeing him on stage; Blink managed to stay in character almost the whole time and didn't crack up once, unlike every single run through they'd done. And Les positively shone, stealing every scene where he appeared. David did have to grin with brotherly pride and kind of ruffled his hair fondly after they took their bows, right before Les went skipping off stage to be congratulated by his parents, Medda, and everyone else at camp.

David sat on stage, waving to a few friends and their families while he waited for his parents to finish cooing over Les and remember that he'd been in the show too, but for a change, he didn't fall into his middle child resentment. Les had done a great job, after all.

And anyway, it was only a minute before Jack tapped his shoulder and greeted him with a big--but casual--hug. "You were great, Davey."

"Thanks, Jack," David said, shrugging modestly but glowing inwardly.

"I mean it." Jack coughed. "I don't think anyone will even remember you were dancing in that scene."

"I know _I've_ already tried to block it out."

"Aw, Dave. I'm kidding."

"I _know."_

"Anyway, just wanted to let you know I'm off tomorrow--well, now, really but like I was gonna miss your show--so I figured I'd ask if you wanted anything from town or anything."

"I thought I only got junkfood if I made nice with the horses?"

Jack shrugged. "You're too cute, I relented."

"You're _sweet."_ David coughed a little, glancing around. No one had noticed in the buzz of post show hyperness. "Anyway, I'm fine, if slightly craving chocolate covered pretzels."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You're a weird guy, Davey." But he grinned. "Which is why I like you."

David just grinned back at him, and then noticed his parents had finally looked around for him and were heading over. He shrugged at Jack, who laughed and pushed him at his parents and snuck off to go congratulate other friends.

David had no sooner opened his mouth to say hello to his folks than Ether was hugging him and babbling about how wonderful he was. And David just smiled as he  
watched Jack wave at him one last time before slipping out of the theater.

*

"So, would you two care to tell me just exactly what the hell is going on?"

Trixie looked at Smurf uncomfortably, and Smurf looked over at her equally uncomfortably, and they shrugged in unison.

Jenna--known around camp as Arrow now that she was in her fourth year--sighed. She'd known something was up, due to the lack of letters from Smurf, and Trixie had only written about the usual things. Mush was still cute. Jack was still cute. Medda  
was still insane. Shows were good.

And there hadn't been a single goofy letter from the two of them, written by stealing the pen from each other, crossing out everything the other tried to write, and generally making fun of each other. And they _always_ sent Arrow those letters.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Okaaaaay..." She rolled her eyes and leaned back on her bunk. It wasn't quite curfew yet, but she'd dragged Smurf and Trixie out of the evening snack early to try and figure out why they weren't speaking to each other. They were alone in the bunk, where she'd moved in earlier that day.

"She stabbed me in the back," Smurf finally muttered.

"She won't let me apologize!" Trixie yelled back. "I've been freaking _groveling_ for a _week_ now and she won't even talk about it!"

"Woah, okay... _what_ happened?"

Another silence, and finally Smurf dug around in the mess she called her bed, produced a limp, worn doll, and tossed it to Arrow, who raised an eyebrow. She'd been friends with the two of them almost as long as they'd been friends with each other; how could he _not_ recognize Daisy? Who remained, of course, a shade of light blue.

"You did this?" Arrow asked Trixie.

_"No,"_ Trixie answered. "I didn't. _Blink_ did."

"You helped him!"

"I did _not,_ I--"

"Shut up!" Arrow interrupted, and tossed the doll back to Smurf. "What  
happened?"

Smurf scowled at Trixie and answered, "She was _so_ desperate to get a date with Mush that she made a deal with Blink. She gave him Daisy, he talked Mush into going to the dance with her."

"Trixie!" Arrow yelped, a little shocked.

"It wasn't like that!" Trixie yelled back. "I mean... It _was_ kind of what happened, but I didn't think Blink was going to do anything _bad._ I thought he was just going to make fun of her or something--drop the doll in the lost and found so he could laugh at her when she claimed it. Nothing _bad._ And anyway, I didn't know about her grandmother! I wouldn't have done it if I'd known that."

"Grandmother?" Arrow looked back at Smurf, who crossed her arms angrily... But kind of looked away and down at the floor, guiltily. "Smurf? ... _Elsie,_ come on."

Smurf groaned. "I kind of... exaggerated."

"You _what?!"_ Trixie shrieked.

"You what?" Arrow asked, calmer, still confused.

"I, uh... Well, I told Blink about how my grandmother gave me Daisy--which is _true!_\--but I kind of... Added some stuff."

"Like?"

"Um..." Smurf bit her lip. "I dunno. I... kind of laid it on thick about it being the last thing she gave me before she died and how she taught me how to sail  
and, uh... yeah."

"You mean..." Trixie stared at her. "The whole thing about how she... She gave it to you to remember her? For good luck? And then she _died_? You mean you made that all up?!"

"No! Not _all_ of it. Just... _Most_ of it. She did give it to me... And she taught me how to sail..."

"But no sob story."

"Not really."

And now it was Trixie's turn to glare and Smurf's turn to shift uncomfortably. Finally Trixie let everything out with a screech of, "You could have freaking _told me that!"_

"I didn't mean it to be such a big deal!" Smurf yelled back. "I mean, I did, but not for _you._ I just wanted to get to _Blink."_

"You could have told me_ that,"_ Trixie snapped again.

"I wanted to! I just felt, uh..."

There was a long silence.

"Really guilty?" Arrow suggested, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Yeah. And I _was_ pissed that you'd sold me out to Blink, by the way."

"Yeah, but--"

"Okay, hold it," Arrow interrupted. "She--" she gestured at Trixie, "messed up, obviously, by helping Blink. And you messed up by letting her stew in it when you knew you weren't that upset and she was. So you're both guilty, now apologize and get over it."

She said it with the kind of authority that might have made Mrs. Higgins proud. Smurf scowled and Trixie scowled right back. Arrow sighed. "Look, it's either that or you two can freaking give up on being best friends over something incredibly stupid. And six years is a lot to waste."

The scowling slowly stopped. Trixie swallowed and Smurf coughed, and finally Smurf said, "Sorry. I guess."

"Yeah, me too."

"Okay, then."

"Okay."

"So," Arrow said, "friends again?"

"I guess."

"Sure."

"Great. Now we just have to figure out how to tell _Blink_ that you were exaggerating..."

Smurf groaned and collapsed on to her bunk. Somehow, she'd _known_ that was coming.

*

Three days in a row with non-camp food. David was experiencing a state something like bliss. His parents had taken all of their children out for lunch before they left with Sarah; and David was reveling in having a menu. And food that was actually cooked properly.

It was a nice little diner that resembled a truck stop more than anything else, David noted as he took in the dcor and the menu, but it hardly mattered. It seemed to be the only place around to eat that wasn't fast food. The city the camp sat outside of was hardly large enough to even be called a city.

As David settled on a grilled chicken sandwich, he halfheartedly listened to Les expound at _great_ length about the boys in his bunk, the activities he'd tried, and the counselors he'd met. Sarah was rolling her eyes at him, but only slightly; she was in a good mood, knowing that in a few hours she'd be back at home.

And David was just really happy to have actual _juice,_ not juice-flavored liquid from a mix.

He got happier, though, as Sarah abruptly kicked him under the table and pointed towards the door of the restaurant. "Isn't that Jack?" she demanded.

David craned his neck to see over his parents, and broke into a wide smile. "It _is._ He's off today, he must be here for lunch too."

Les, sitting between their parents, twirled around in his seat and started waving frantically and yelling Jack's name. Jack looked over at them, startled for just a second, but then it faded to a content smile and he sauntered over toward their table.

"Why, hello again, Cowboy," Esther laughed.

"Howdy, ma'am," Jack answered obligingly, as he slid his cowboy hat off to hang around his neck. "Small world, I guess."

"It _is!"_ Les squeaked. "Jack, Jack, did you see the show last night?"

"Of course I did." Jack reached over to tweak Les's nose and he giggled. "You were great, but now I'm not sure I can trust you when you say you're sick..."

_"Cowboy,_ I had _chicken pox._ Dad, Dad, did I show you the scar? One of them scarred 'cause I picked at it too much, Triage said, and it's right on my elbow, see?"

"Les, not at the table," Esther sighed, slipping into her patient mother voice.

"Sorry, Mom."

Jack grinned at him. "I've got a scar from falling off a horse once, on my knee. I'll show you at camp tonight."

"Awesome!"

"Jack," Mayer mused, "we haven't ordered yet, if you'd like to join us. I'm sure we could squeeze you in at the table..."

"Oh, uh..." Jack shrugged. "I dunno, I wouldn't want to interrupt your  
family time."

"Come on, Jack," David put in, looking up at Jack, trying to catch his eyes. Jack blinked once, and smiled slightly, looking down and away.

"Now, David, if he doesn't want to spend his day off with the campers he sees every day--"

"Oh, no," Jack interrupted Esther. "You've got my favorite campers right here anyway."

Sarah giggled giddily. "Oh _Jack,_ you're just saying that..."

"Nah, it's true." He smiled at her, but his gaze shifted slightly over at David, who felt himself blush slightly.

Sarah slid over on the seat, closer to David, to give Jack room to sit. But Les began to pout. "I want Jack to sit next to _me,_ he's my counselor!"

"Les, grow up--"

"Sa-_ar-_ah!"

"Mom--"

"I--"

"Hey, hey," Jack interrupted. "Why don't I sit between Sarah and David so I can face you, Les? That way we can talk better."

"Well... Okay," Les agreed, nodding after pondering for a moment. David reflected that his little brother probably considered anything Jack suggested as the sagest advice ever given to man.

Which David found kind of endearing.

Sarah stood up and Jack slid into the booth, thigh to thigh with David. "Thanks for letting me join in, Mr. Jacobs," Jack said, reaching for David's hand under the table. "It's no fun eating all alone."

He leaned over David to look at his still-open menu, and David gave his hand a squeeze, and if they were touching slightly more than was strictly necessary, no one noticed.

*

At snack at that evening, Jack actually came to join the campers; though he got a cup of coffee and after a few quick hellos slid out onto the porch. Racetrack raised an eyebrow at David, who shrugged, finished his cookie, and followed Jack.

"You okay?" David asked, watching Jack watch the moon's reflection on the calm lake surface.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, and dug into an oversized pocket, pulled out a small bag of chocolate covered pretzels and handed the to David. "Your parents seem really great, Davey."

David shrugged. "I guess they're not bad."

"You're lucky."

David swallowed a little bit. "I... I guess I am."

Jack shrugged, and turned to face him. "I guess I just wish... I used to pretend, you know, that my family was like yours. Happy to see me."

"Jack..." David said softly.

"Yeah, well, I was just a kid. Pretending doesn't do much good, and anyway..." He shrugged. "It could be worse."

"I wish I could make it better."

"Davey..." Jack gave him a wan smile, but it was a genuine one nonetheless. "You _do."_

And not kissing Jack right then was the hardest thing David had ever done.


	27. Happy World Land

The first bell rang and David, as he usually did, rolled over, ignored it, and shut his eyes. Fifteen minutes to nap.

Someone began to shake his shoulder. "Dave, get up. Come on, no sleeping today, get _up!"_

"Whazah? Lemmesleep." David shook himself free and buried his head under his pillow to block out the light.

"Get _up!"_

Someone grabbed David's blanket and yanked it free from his bunk, and David felt the cold air rush in on him, and groaned underneath his pillow. He said something fairly nasty, but the combination of his early morning inarticulateness and the muffling of the pillow kept it from being heard.

This resulted in a tugging match between whoever was trying to wake up Davidhe had yet to open his eyes and checkand David himself, over is pillow. David clung to it, but eventually it was ripped away from him and he had to let go or be pulled out of bed.

"Fine," David groused and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light, and eventually he saw Snitch holding his pillow. "What's _wrong_ with you? It's early."

"It's changeover day!" Snitch tossed his pillow back onto the bed, but before David could attempt to sleep again, he grabbed David's arm and tugged until David grudgingly slid out of bed.

"So?" he demanded.

"So it's the best day of the summer!"

David glanced around at his other bunkmates, who were all in varying levels of waking up. "What's the big deal?"

"Well." Snitch began ticking things off on his fingers. "For one, we go out to see a movie. Two, we go to an amusement park. Three, we get real food. Four, it's awesome!"

"He's like a six-year-old," Skittery mused from the other side of the bunk, pulling on a light pink undershirt.

"Shut up, it'll be great. I'm gonna go on every ride"

"Until you puke twice. You say that every year."

Snitch shrugged guiltily. "It's from a show I like."

"We _know,"_ Skittery said.

"Come _on,_ Dave, hurry _up._ The sooner everyone gets through breakfast, the sooner we get out of here!"

David responded by yawning heavily, but at Snitch's urgings, the bunk managed to get dressed and get out as the second bell began to ring. David yawned again and turned to Racetrack. "Is he just crazy, or is this actually... Whatever?"

"It's a good day," Race agreed. "I mean, we get out of camp. I've been  
looking forward to it."

"Do counselors get to come along?"

Race laughed. "Subtle, Dave. Subtle."

"Do they?"

"A few. I don't think Jack is."

"I didn't ask about Jack," David answered defensively.

Racetrack raised and eyebrow, and David shrugged, and they filed into the already open dining hall. It was already filling up, and breakfast was buffet style, not the usual table style, so David decided Snitch probably wasn't exaggerating any more than usual, and it probably was an important day.

He saw Jack already there, spreading cream cheese on a bagel, and waved; Jack waved back, and David got himself breakfast and joined him. "You're not coming with us today?"

"Nope." Jack shrugged. "Gotta work. I get the fun job of moving people's stuff down the hill."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, but a job's a job. Anyway, I've been lots of times. The park is pretty awesomeyou should go on the ThunderCoaster, it's the coolest thing ever."

"I'll do that," David agreed, though roller coasters weren't really his thing.

He looked out through the room. He could hear Snitch bouncing up and down and talking about waterslides. A few of the girls who were staying for both sessions were talking about what movie they wanted to see. But others were tearfully saying goodbye; changeover day meant new people coming in to camp, but a lot of people left, too. He knew a few girls from the theater were leaving, but most of the people he'd actually managed to make friends with were staying the rest of the summer. Which was kind of a relief, because David wasn't sure he was up for another round of not recognizing anyone and trying to learn a million new names.

"You'll love it," Racetrack said, coming up on the other side of David. "My birthday is in June, right after it opens, and I used to go every year."

"Yeah?"

"The drive's almost two hours, but it's worth it."

"Okaaaaay." David didn't feel entirely convinced or see what the big deal was, but unlike Snitch, Racetrack usually only got excited when it was something worth getting excited over.

Breakfast on changeover day seemed to be more relaxed than usual; they were allowed to sit wherever they chose, and so David half-shyly at down on the end of the bench at Jack's table, and Jack gave him a sleepy smile over his coffee cup. Most of David's bunk settled in at the same table; only Racetrack was sitting elsewhere, at his usual seat with his parents and a couple of his brothers who were still at home.

"Excited?" Jack asked.

"I guess."

"Man, I remember last year, Race and I went on the Stellar Coaster six times in a row."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it was awesome. Snitch tried to go with us, but he puked after three."

Snitch scowled at him, and announced, "That's why I'm not eating a big  
breakfast." And sure enough, he was nibbling at a piece of toast with jellyor at least, what the kitchen staff claimed was jellyspread thinly on it.

"Do you get to come this year, Jack?" Skittery asked.

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I've got work. Hauling people's luggage down hill all day."

"I'll go on the Stellar an extra time for you," Snitch offered, bouncing slightly in his seat.

"Yeah, thanks." Jack rolled his eyes, but smiled a little, and David relaxed. Until the shouting started.

*

When Racetrack saw his mother gesture him over to their table, he knew that something was going on; usually she didn't mind if he sat with his friends on changeover day. But it wasn't like it was a big deal, so he took his plate over to sit between Mark and Paul, who had both extended their visits home.

Racetrack munched on his undercooked eggs and finally his mother commented, "Tony, dear, could you please do me a favor?"

He swallowed. "Sure, what's up?" He was more cautious than he sounded,  
though; his mother almost never asked him so politely.

"Well, your brothers were supposed to help out with changeover day today," she explained.

"...But?"

"Well, your grandmother called and she isn't feeling well; she needs someone to take her to the doctor."

"...Yeah?"

"Well, I'm sending them to do it, after all, it's pretty tedious to drive her around all day and sit and wait, so I thought if they were together they could keep each other entertained."

Racetrack turned to glower at Mark, who waved innocently, and then to Paul, who shrugged. "So they... aren't helping out, then?" Race asked.

"Exactly. So I'd appreciate it if you would stay and help out today."

Race stared at her. "But..." he finally. "I mean, it's changeover day.  
It's my last year."

"I know, Tony, and it's unfortunate timing, but if you could help out it would make everyone's life so much easier."

"But I..." He blinked a few time. "I mean, I'd really like to go with my friends."

"I _know,_ but you have to understand the situation."

"Well, I'm sorry Grandma's sick, I mean, I do understand that, but I'd really been looking forward to this is all."

"Tony, don't whine, please."

"I'm not _whining!_"

Mark snickered and shut up quickly when Race glowered at him.

"Tony, I asked you to do a favor, because you're part of this family so I thought I could count on you to help out."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," Race snapped. "It's just that I had  
really wanted to go."

"Well, if you're going to resent it"

"Of _course_ I resent it! You can't blame me for that, I was looking forward to the trip and now I can't go, but it's not like I said _no."_

"I don't appreciate your tone of voice, Anthony."

"Sorry."

But Racetrack glowered at her and she stared back primly and the silence was almost tangible.

Racetrack turned back to his eggs, stabbing viciously with his fork, no longer very hungry. He glanced over to Jack's table, where Jack and David were clearly  
trying hard not to look adoringly at each other, but everyone else was bouncing and talking excitedly. He sighed and jabbed at his eggs again.

"Anthony, please. Calm down."

He looked up to stare at his mother. "I didn't _do_ anything."

"Tony," she said warningly.

"What? I mean it, _what?_ I already said I'd do it, even if I don't want to. So I don't see what you're complaining about."

"I am not complaining, and I don't appreciate your attitude."

"Mom"

"Hey," Mark broke in abruptly. "Come on, it's not that big a deal."

"Yeah, since _you_ weaseled your way out of it," Racetrack snapped.

"Hey"

"Tony, that was uncalled for. Apologize to your brother."

Racetrack glared. Mark shrugged. "He doesn't have to... It's okay."

"I _asked_ him to apologize; Tony"

"No!" Race yelled. "No, I'm not going to apologize! I didn't do anything wrong and I'm sick of being blamed for everything they do! I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of you dumping on me and expecting me to give up everything I want to do and all of my plans at last second on your _whim._ I'm just sick of it!"

"Anthony" his father started, interceding for the first time.

"No, I mean it! She does this to me all the time, just because she _can._ She won't let me do anythingI don't get to go out with friends all year, I don't get to do anything _I_ want because I'm so busy with sixty things _she_ wants me to do and I _never_ complain, and as soon as I actually let her know that I'm annoyed about something I'm doing _as a favor_ even though I don't _want to,_ she yells at me! It's just not fair!"

He didn't notice that his mother had gone entirely cold and still with anger; he didn't notice that the whole room had gone silent and was staring at him. He didn't even really notice he'd been yelling.

"Anthony," his mother said icily, "I don't believe this is the appropriate place to have this discussion."

"What do you mean, discussion? We don't discuss things. You tell me what to do and then yell at me and ground me if I don't do exactly what you say!"

"Anthony." She stood up. "Come with me, please."

"Mom"

_"Now."_

She stood up angrily and he swallowed hard, some of what he'd been yelling sinking in, and followed suit. They left the dining hall together, him trailing behind a few steps petulantly, and the silence seeped into the dining hall for quite a long time.

Twenty minutes later, when Mrs. Higgins returned, Racetrack wasn't with her.

*

David felt queasy on the bus ride, but he didn't think it was from the bumping of the bus or from the awful eggs at breakfast. He'd never heard Racetrack flip out before; Race seemed too levelheaded for that. And no one else seemed to have expected it, either. Jack had looked shocked.

He glanced around, stood and slid back a few seats to find Spot. Everyone knew Race, but Spot seemed to know him fairly well, or so David assumed from their poker games.

"Hey."

"Yo." Spot slid over on the two person seat, squishing closer to Ian on his other side; Ian grinned and put an arm around Spot, who made a slightly strangled face.

"Hey, um, question?"

"Yeah?"

"Was it me, or did Racetrack seriously flip out?"

"Um, _yeah,_ seriously. Kind of scary." Spot shrugged. "If I had his mom, I'd flip out too, though."

"What do you think happened?"

"I dunno. I guess he's grounded."

"Yeah, but... How can you ground someone at camp?"

"I guess you can if you live at camp."

"But..." David shrugged. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Honestly, I couldn't say. I've never seen him yell at _anyone_ before."

"Hmmm." David frowned a little. "Okay... Thanks. I guess."

He stood up and Spot sighed with relief and slid away from Ian, who pouted visibly. Spot winced.

David shook his head, amused, and sat down again. But while Ian tormenting Spot was funny, he couldn't get Race's yelling out of his head. And the movie was funnot good, but funand he still couldn't stop worrying about Race, and the  
amusement park _was_ pretty awesome (Snitch did indeed go on every roller coaster until he puked), not to mention exhausting.

The late evening bus ride home was subdued, compared to the ride in the morning; all the running around and riding had made everyone exhausted. David found himself on the bus sharing a seat with Skittery, who had said simply that he refused to sit next to Snitch, who had a tendency to puke again on the ride home.

"Hey, Skitts?"

"Yeah?"

"You think Race will be there when we get home?"

"Where else would he be?"

"I dunno." David shrugged and turned to stare at the scenery rushing past outside, then glanced back. "He's kind of stressed out, huh?"

"Yeah, always has been. I figure, he's been waiting to lose it for years. Too many brothers."

David paused to think about that, but his thoughts were interrupted.

"Hey, pull over! Pull over, I'm gonna puke!"

*

Mark found the concept of knocking on the door to the basement bedroom kind of weird. After all, for most of his life it was the room he'd shared with Paul and Tony, and now it was just Tony's. He'd never had his own room until college; now that he was essentially living away from home, he'd volunteered to pack up all his stuff and move out of the room so that, now that Paul was gone too, Tony had his own bedroom.

It had been his birthday present.

But now it was Tony's room, not his, so Paul knocked and didn't get an answer. "Hey, uh... Tony? Anthony?" He paused. "Antoine? Anatole? C'mon, I know you're there."

There was a faint thumping sound from within the room, and after a second of hesitation, Paul pushed the door open, knowing full well that it had no lock.

Tony was lying on his bed. It was actually a bunk bed they'd had to share for years (Paul had had his own bed across the room), and as soon as Mark had moved out, Tony had finally claimed the bottom bunk for his own. And now he was lying there on his back, head on his pillow, tossing a miniature basketball up and catching it after it had bounced off the top bunk. Hence the soft thumping sound.

"I guess you don't really want to talk, then?"

Toss, thump, catch.

"So, Mom's pretty pissed at you, huh?"

Toss, thump, catch.

"And I guess it's kind of Paul's and my fault, huh?"

Toss, thump, catch. Toss _smack_ catch. Mark winced.

"We didn't mean to screw you over, Tony."

Toss, thump, catch.

"I'm just gonna stand here and talk and you can ignore me if you want."

Toss, thump, catch.

"Which I guess you already are, huh? Anyway, uh... We didn't mean to screw you over. No one wants to work on changeover day, you know that." He waited, but all he got was Tony tossing and catching the ball. "So when Grandma called we volunteered to take care of her and we didn't know Mom was going to make _you_ stay."

Racetrack caught the ball and tossed it over at him. "You should have figured. It's always me."

Mark tossed the ball back. "We didn't realize that until after you flipped out."

Racetrack threw the ball rather violently down at the floor. "Yeah, well, I'm sick of it. I'm not her son, I'm her errand boy."

"You're her favorite son. We all know that."

"Yeah, well, I wish she'd decided someone _else_ was her favorite. She never listens to me, she doesn't care about anything I want to do, all she cares about is that I do everything she says and keep my mouth shut."

"Yeah." Mark hesitated, then moved to sit in Tony's desk chair. "Yeah, I can see why."

"She's not like that with you," Tony snapped, almost accusatory. "You're the second youngest. Why isn't she like that with you?"

"Because you're the youngest." He shrugged. "She figures the rest of us are all already screwed up, you're her last chance."

"You're not screwed up."

"I know. But none of us are perfect."

"I'm not perfect."

"Yeah, but out of the eight of us, you're the closet. That gambling thing aside."

Tony made a bitter noise that was a half-laugh. "I'd have made over a hundred dollars if one of you hadn't ratted me out to her. If I ever figure out which one..."

Mark shrugged. "It's the brotherly code of silence. _You_ know."

"Yeah, yeah. I hate Steve's stupid codes. I swear, he only invented them so you could all gang up on me."

"We'd have done that anyway."

"No kidding."

Mark bit his lip, then, "Paul left for home today. But he wanted me to tell you he's sorry."

"Whatever."

"So... you and Mom got into a pretty bad fight?"

"If you can call it that. I sat there and she yelled at me."

"And?"

"I'm grounded."

"No kidding. How long?"

"Until I die."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She said God would deal with me after that. Because she's tried and tried but there's just nothing she can do for such an ungrateful, bratty, spoiled child."

"She knows you're not any of those things, Tony."

"Maybe she would if she'd listen to me. I guess I shouldn't have yelled at her."

"Hey, you made it sixteen _years_ before you snapped. I think I'm still grounded from when I got into a fight with her when I was twelve."

"Yeah, probably." Tony groaned. "She says if I don't want to be at camp I don't have to. Instead I can spend the rest of the summer sitting around at home, not allowed to use the TV or computer or phone or radio..."

"Ouch." He sighed. "It'll blow over."

"No, it won't."

"Tony"

"I don't _want_ it to. I'd rather be grounded than let her walk all over me again. I'm sick of it."

Mark nodded. "Well, good luck. If you manage to get her to listen to you, that makes you the first out of the eight of us."

"Yeah. I'll work on that."

Tony stared up at the bottom of the top bunk, and Mark stood up slowly. "Um, are you okay? You seem a little depressed."

"Try resigned."

"Gotcha. I'm... Gonna go watch a movie or something, unless you want me to hang out here. Which I would."

"Nah. Go have fun. You're not grounded."

Mark shrugged. "Only if you're sure."

"Go on. I kind of want to be alone anyway."

"All right... Don't worry, she'll calm down."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Night, Mark."

"'Night, Tony."

Mark let himself out, and Tony reached for the ball and began tossing and catching it again.

*

"He's grounded," Sneakers said.

"He's what?"

"He's ground. Away from camp."

The boys of Pentland fell slightly silent, and David couldn't help but glance over at the bed where Racetrack wouldn't be sleeping and shook his head a little. "That's not fair."

"Mrs. Higgins is pretty exact about how she raises her kids," Sneakers answered. "But I'm sure she'll get over it."

"You really think so?" Blink asked. "'Cause she seems pretty stubborn to me."

"So's he," Mush added.

"Look, I know it sucks, but... It's not any of our business," Sneakers said. "I hope they get over it and he comes back, but..."

"You can't just be resigned to this," David said. "He's our friend."

"Hey, he's my friend, too," Sneakers answered. "But there's nothing we can do, and it isn't our business. It's a family thing."

No one said anything for a long minute, and finally David shook his head. "You're wrong. We're going to find a way to get him ungrounded."

"How?" Snitch asked, leaning forward to peer at David from his own bunk.

"I don't know yet. But we will."


	28. Rabble Rousing

There was a visible shift in the late-night gathering in the dining hall, as the news about Racetrack got around. As most people arrived, spirits were high and excited by the reunion of friends who hadn't seen each other in a year. Most of them were  
girls, though there were a few guys, but David didn't care too much at that moment.

Jack, who had decided that after a day of shlepping people's luggage around he had earned some coffee and relaxation, dutifully pointed out who each of the new kids was, but David lost each name after he was told it almost immediately. But after the celebration, sooner or later everyone looked around and noticed Racetrack was missing, and considering his family ran the camp, there was no way he _should_ have been gone. And someone would explain what had happened, and eventually everyone sobered up and looked a little depressed.

"Well, Dave?" Blink asked, coming up behind him, with a girl close behind. David glanced around the room and saw Smurf scowling in their general direction, which was at least a little bit more normal. "Any bright ideas yet?"

"I'm working on it." David sighed. "No good ones yet."

The girl behind Blink leaned forward, resting her arm and chin on his shoulder. "Who's that?" she asked.

"Get outta my ear," he answered.

"Oh, sorry," she answered, still on his shoulder.

"Stop it!" He jerked away from her, then took a second to gain his composure. "Uh, Dave, this is Mayfly. Uh... yeah."

"Ideas?" Jack asked, glancing over at them. "What kinda ideas are we talking about?"

"Dave decided he's going to rescue Racetrack," Blink explained.

"Are we talking jail break?" Jack asked. "I mean, he and I've snuck out of his house before, but that wasn't in the summer..." He hesitated. "I mean, not that I can help. I'm a counselor. So, uh... Stop that." But he winked, and David smiled.

"You're so responsible, Jack," Blink nodded, and shrugged. "Well, when you think of something, let me know."

"Well, I think the problem is that we don't know what happened. I mean... We see the end results, but we need to know."

"Well" Jack started, but stopped and glanced over at the door as it swung open. Sneakers was walking in, but Mark was with him. "Mark, don't you have a job? And classes? What are you still doing here?"

"Well, uh... Yes," he said. "But I took a few days off. I mean, this is my summer break. I should get to relax."

"I'm sure your professors understand."

"Uh..." Mark coughed. "Yeah, sure. I might have neglected to tell them, though."

"Did you tell your mom that?" Sneakers asked, sounding amused.

"Are you crazy? She didn't ask, so I didn't mention it. Besides, school's only an hour away, I go out for a few hours in the afternoon, she figures I'm going to classes."

"You know, I bet if we told Mrs. Higgins about that, she'd forget how angry she is at Racetrack," David mused.

"Hey, now," Mark said quickly. "Let's not be hasty, here. I'm sorry about Tony tooif I'd realized something like that was gonna happen..."

"Well, it happened," David said simply. "Now we have to fix it."

"Good luck," Mark answered. "You don't know what she's like. She won't let him off the hook, she won't even talk to him until he apologizes."

"So we have to make them talk."

"Yeah, right. If you can manage that..." Mark shook his head. "If you can manage that, then you'll pull off something that, between the eight of us, we haven't been able to do in... Geeze, thirty years. Man, Steve's old."

"Dave?" Jack asked. "You got an idea?"

"I'm thinking."

Mark shrugged. "Well, if I can help..."

"Can you get me in to talk to him?"

"Uh... Nope."

"Can you get him out to talk to me?"

"No..."

"Thanks, you're a big help."

Mark hesitated. "Look, uh... He's not allowed to use the phone when he's grounded, but Mom and Dad both are out of the house after breakfast for cabin inspections."

David nodded. "Okay... Thanks."

"So don't tell Mom about me and my classes, okay?"

"Hey, your classes are none of my business." David shrugged, and didn't mention that in his whole life, he'd only stayed home sick from school five days, when he'd been too sick to get out of bed and couldn't keep food down.

He suddenly found that a little lame instead of a point to be proud of.

"So..." David said, musing, as Mark walked off to get a cup of coffee. "How are we gonna get to a phone?"

Jack shrugged. "There's one in the office, and one in the infirmary. So you either gotta go through Triage or Denton. Uh, not that I... You know."

"I know." David smiled over at Jack for a second, wanting to hold his hand under the table, but knowing better than to risk it. Instead, he shifted slightly closer to Jack, just millimeters, and as he reached for his mug of cocoa the back of his hand "accidentally" brushed Jack's.

"So, Dave?"

"Well, they both seem nice..." David said. "I, uh... I've only talked to Denton when I was in trouble."

"Actually, _I_ was in trouble," Jack said. "Denton's a stickler, though. He'd only let you call anywhere if it was calling home when you get sick, and he'll only clear that if Triage says to."

"So... Triage, then. But how do we get her out of the infirmary? We'd have to get by her..."

Blink glanced over at him. "I think I've got an idea," he said. "I mean, it's worked before. A couple of times in the last couple of years..."

"Yeah?" David said, and Mayfly giggled.

"Oh, like last year when you didn't want to say you hurt your ankle in case they made you sit out the race, so you stole the bandages!"

"Uh..." Blink gave her a slightly frightened look. "Yeah." He glanced across the auditorium. "Mush! Hey, c'mere!"

Mush gave him a grateful look, shrugged out of Trixie's grasp (David had to wonder how Trixie constantly managed to wrap herself around him, given his evident dislike of her.) She followed him over, but he managed to wedge himself between Jack and David, elbowing them aside to make room. David felt slightly grumpy about that, but didn't say anything.

"Mush," Blink said. "We need a diversion to get Dave into the infirmary."

"What?"

"See, Dave has to call Race, so we need to get him into the infirmary. And you've fooled Triage before."

"I think she's catching on," he said. "I mean, I did it twice last summer, and once already this year. I can't hurt myself stretching _that_ often."

"Well, something else then. Take a fall!"

"I can't do that, she'd give me crutches. And that's awful at campyou've _seen_ how long it takes Crutchy to get to the dining hall and back."

"Well, you've gotta do something."

"Breakfast could make you ill," David said sardonically, not expecting much of an answer.

Mush paused. "Sick," he said. "Food poisoningupset stomach. I could play that. I mean..." He looked over at Jack, who began to whistle, staring out the window blankly. "I could," he said. "It would be... a challenge."

"You're already being over-dramatic," Mayfly mumbled.

"You be quiet, he's perfect," Trixie snapped, trying to rub Mush's back as she defended his honor.

Mush rolled his eyes, but glanced at David. "So... I pretend to be sick. Loudly. I get her into the bathroom or the back room, you sneak in... Call Race... And sneak out. How could it possibly go wrong?"

David raised an eyebrow, and didn't grace him with a reply.

*

Not going to an activity was surprisingly easy. David has never done it before, though he knew that other campers skipped activities all the time. None of the counselors actually followed you to make sure you went to one, and there was no master list they compared at the end of the day to ensure everyone did as they were supposed to. No one would notice if a camper slipped through the cracks...

As wandered down towards the theater, looking as though he had a destination in mind but planning to wander off before he got there, he mused that he could use this new discovery to get a few extra hours of sleep a day. At least, until he got caught...

It was probably a bad idea, he decided. Though if somehow he managed to pull this off with Mush, he might actually consider it.

He got as far as the main field, then wandered across to a small grove of trees near the tennis court, and hung out, waiting. He could see the main field and the path through it clearly, and waited until he saw Mush, hands wrapped around his abdomen and staggering slightly, bending over, hobble up the path. He'd managed to make it out without Trixie this time.

David followed cautiously, and Mush glanced back once, saw him, and winked. Then he continued staggering up the path, as though nothing had happened.

David waited off the edge of the path as Mush entered the infirmary, and saw Triage through the window. The door shut and he crept closer, nervously, and finally put his ear against the door.

"I think it's food poisoning, oh _god_ I'm gonna _die"_

"Oh, calm down; you're not going to do. I'm trying to take your"

"I'm gonna _puke!"_

Footsteps, fast heavy ones; then lighter, slower ones. All away from the door. David let out a deep breath and pushed the door open. He glanced down the hall and saw Triage's back, as she watched Mush in the bathroom, from which he was emitting horrible noises. David shuddered and quickly started down the hall, trying to be as quiet as he could.

He got into Triage's room, feeling awkward for invading her personal space. The room was surprisingly messy (he pictured nurses as always living in a sterile environment, but there were clothes strewn around all over), and the phone was sitting on the headboard. He pulled the crumbled piece of paper with Race's number written on it out of his pocket and dialed, still able to hear Mush groaning in agony in the other room.

It rang once, twice, three times, four, five

"Hello, you've reached the Higgins family residence"

"Hiiiii!"

"Tony, Mark, be quiet"

"OW! Mommy he bit my arm!"

"Please leave a message and"

"Tony, no crying!"

"we'll get back to you"

"_Mommy Daddy I'm bleeding!"_

"Boys, if I have to turn around again"

"Sorry, Mommy."

"You've reached the Higgins family residence, please leave a message with your name and number and we'll get back to you as soon as we can."

_Beep._

David found himself laughing as he reached to hang up, but then another voice cut in. "Hello?"

"Race?"

There was a pause. "Dave?"

"It's me, yeah."

"How"

"Mush is fake puking in the bathroom, Triage is trying to help. Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I'm fine, just bored. No TV, no computer, no phone. Mom would flip if she knew I answered this."

"Hey, uh, how old were you when that message was recorded?"

"Five. My parents refuse to let me record over it."

"Aww." David laughed, then, "Anyway, uh, look. I'm working on a plan to get you out of there."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I don't know if it'll work, though. But I just wanted to make sureis it okay? To do that? I don't want to get involved if you don't want"

"It's been less than a day and I'm going insane, Dave. I've just been sitting on the porch, staring out at camp. Did you know you can see the girls' bunks from my house? And archery and tennis."

"Uh... okay."

"I'm so bored, I'm going to go crazy."

"What... what happened, anyway?"

"I don't even know. I yelled at Mom, she yelled back for, like, four times as long, and told me I was grounded."

"She didn't let you defend yourself at all?"

"Yeah, right. If only. She doesn't care what I have to say."

"How long are you grounded _for?"_

"Until I die, she forgets, or school starts. Whichever comes first."

"Geeze."

"Yeah."

"Look, I can't promise anythingbut I do have an idea, though. We'll do what we"

"Crap, someone's out front. I gotta run."

"Bye"

But he'd already hung up. It didn't matter, though, because David's idea was growing and solidifying, and Mush didn't sound like he could keep Triage busy for much longer.

David crept out of the bedroom and saw Mush and Triage, and Mush saw him. "Oh, God, I'm really gonna _puke"_

He ran back into the bathroom and she followed, and David slipped out the door.

*

"How'd it go?" Jack asked softly, as everyone streamed into the dining hall for lunch.

"I can't believe it _worked,"_ David answered, before they split ways to go to their tables. He'd already thanked Mush and begun to quietly spread the wordthat night, the senior campers should all meet in the dining hall to talk. He couldn't believe he was really doing any of this, but he also couldn't back down now that he'd talked to Race.

David sat down at his table, but a moment later he was tapped on the shoulder and looked up to see Mrs. Higgins looking down at him disapprovingly.

"A word with you, Mr. Jacobs," she said, and pointed off to the porch.

He swallowed hard. "Okay," he said, trying to remain cool. But half of the seniors were staring at him, and everyone knew he was in trouble. Probably deep, deep trouble.

David followed her out to the porch like a prisoner being led to the gallows, and she turned to face him menacingly.

"I found a very _interesting_ message on my answering machine, David."

"Oh... really?" he asked, surprised Racetrack hadn't deleted the message, unable to believe that it had slipped his mind.

"Where did you call from?"

David shrugged.

"Please answer me."

"Sorry. But..." He shrugged.

"Never mind that; I know where you called from, the infirmary's number was listed. How"

"Sorry, but"

"I don't think you understand"

"I _do_ understand," he said quickly, cutting her off. "But you have to understand that I won't say anything in case anyone else gets in trouble, it was all my idea. Just blame me."

"I intend to."

He shrugged. So he was in trouble; what could she really do? Send him home? He'd wanted to get home all summer.

But... that had been before Jack, before he had friends. Before he fit in.

Not to mention the fit his mother would throw.

But...

"So what is this _plan,_ Mr. Jacobs?"

"You'll see." He grinned at her, trying to lock back his nerves. He glanced inside the building and everyone was watching him. He stood up a little straighter.

"You do not seem to understand. Anthony is my son; you have no right to interfere in _our_ relationship and private lives. I will not allow"

"Mrs. Higgins," he said calmly, interrupting again, amazed she didn't just steam roll over him. "The thing is, when my parents decided to send me to camp, it was to learn to make friends, and I _did._ And Racetrack was the first person I was friends with here, and one of the closest, and he was the one who helped me learn the ropes and meet people. And I just can't stand the thought of him being locked away all summer."

"It is none of your"

"Is he here as a camper or as your son?"

"What?"

"Which one?" David asked. "Because that's not a fair way to treat a camper."

"He's my son."

"Then why send him to camp to begin with?"

"This is ridiculous."

"Yes, it is," David agreed. "It's ridiculous for you to not be willing to listen to your _own son_ when he's upset, and to ignore it for so long that he has to _yell_ to try and make a point, and then to punish him for it."

"That is not what happened."

"That's what _he_ thinks happened. You heard the phone message."

She glowered at him, and he stared back, not entirely sure what was going on, and even less sure where he was getting inspiration for what he was saying.

"How I raise my son is my business," she said finally. "Keep your nose out of it, promise you won't do that again, and go to lunch."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. "I promise not to call Racetrack again."

He was inside before she realized he hadn't promised to keep his nose out of anything at all.

*

David had a cup of coffee and a notebook in front of him, and waited while everyone settled down. He felt like the president of a club or something, still not sure why exactly people were following him.

"I told you you were a walking mouth," Spot noted, sitting down next to him. "You really got a plan?"

"Yeah, I do," David agreed.

"How'd you get Jack to keep Sneakers and all the counselors busy?"

"I asked him nicely," David answered, which was true. He just didn't mention the quick kiss on the lips that had been involved. "But we don't have that long."

"No problem." Spot cleared his throat, then roared, _"Hey,_ listen _up,_ Mouth wants to talk!"

Everyone fell quiet pretty quickly.

"Take it away," Spot added.

"Uh." David paused, shook his head to clear it, and nodded a little to himself. "So we're all here because we want to help Racetrack, because this isn't fair."

"And because he's _creepy,"_ one of the new girls said. David wasn't positive, but thought he'd heard someone call her Birdy. "He just sat on the porch all day and stared at us. I hope he couldn't see into the cabins. _Pervert."_

"Uh, yeah," David said. "So I talked to him today, and I _sort_ of talked to Mrs. Higgins" Which led to a round of applause, though he didn't quite know why, and when it calmed down he continued, "I talked to them, and the problem is, I think, that they won't _talk._ She won't listen to his side of things."

"So what do _we_ do?" Mush asked.

"Well... If she won't talk to him, we won't talk either."

"What?"

"Think about it. If she doesn't talk to Racetrack, all of us stay silent. No one says a word until she caves."

"But... _How?"_ Mush asked again. "I mean, I do theaterI can't exactly not talk."

"What about just meals, then?" David asked. "That's the only time we see her anyway. And it'll make her crazyit would make anyone crazy."

"But what if she doesn't cave?"

"Then we don't talk. Look, I know this is weirdand hardbut we've got to be willing to go all the way. We've got to be serious about this." David sighed. "Spot, what do you think?"

Spot shrugged. "I think I still ain't beat Race at poker this summer, so I want him out of there."

"So you're in?"

"Sure."

David glanced around the room, and people were nodding now, murmuring among themselves. "I'll write up a petition, and we'll all sign it."

"What about the rest of the camp? Every other group?"

"I dunno..." David shrugged. "I think if we could get them to work, it would be good, but I don't know how"

"Hey," one of the girls interrupted. "I've got a little sister who's a junior, I can get her to help and she'll talk her friends into it."

"My cousin's one of the littles"

"I got the middle group, no problem."

"What about counselors?"

The question hung in the air for a moment.

"Same as the kids, I guess," David finally said. "I mean, if they'd join in, great... If not, we can't expect them to risk their jobs. I mean, this is their boss we're pissing off."

"Is it worth asking?" one of the girls asked.

David shrugged. "I guess it can't hurt. I mean, they're going to know what's going on when we stop talking anyway, they can't stop us if they know ahead of time. I'll... I'll ask Jack what he thinks, he might be able to help convince people."

Everyone nodded their agreement, and David promised to get the petition written up that night, so it could be signed in the morning. The plan was to start at lunchhopefully, it wouldn't take too many meals to get done.

Hopefully.

*

"So what do you think, Jack?" David asked apprehensively, as Jack read over the neatly handwritten sheet of paper.

"I think you're going to grow up to be a politician," Jack answered.

"Jack, be serious."

"I am. This is good stuff, Dave. It reads like the Declaration of Independence or something."

David shrugged. "Jefferson was just copying English common law, anyway."

"What?"

"Uh... Nothing."

"Anyway, I think it's good. It makes your point. I can't believe you're going through with it, though."

"Do you think we shouldn't?" David asked cautiously.

"Well... I don't know, I think it's a good thing to try and help Race. You know he's my best friend, you know I don't think it was fair, but... It's a family thing."

"But it's _wrong."_

"I knowI know," Jack agreed. "What are you going to do if it doesn't work?"

"I dunno." David shrugged. "What's the worst she can do, send me home?"

"Davey..." Jack squeezed his hand. "I don't want you to get sent home."

"Well, I don't _want_ to." David almost had to laugh at that, but it was true. Camp was fun, he had friends, he had _Jack._ He didn't want to get sent home, he didn't want to think about the end of the summera mere three and a half weeks away. But on the other hand, he was involved, and he'd already stood up to Mrs. Higgins about it, and he didn't want to back down, either.

There had always been a stubborn streak underneath his cynicism; that was half of why he was so cynical to begin with. No matter how many things he was good at, he kept insisting to himself that he was a loser. At least, until _Jack..._ But he was too stubborn to give up on Racetrack, and he was too far in.

"You think we have a shot?"

"I have no idea," Jack answered.

"Would you, uh..." David trailed off. "I mean, feel free to say no, don't try to do anything because of how you feel about _me,_ but... Would you help us?"

"Other than pretending I don't know what's going on?"

"Would you sign this? Get other counselors to sign it?"

Jack sighed. "Dave, I could get fired."

"I know, you shouldn't"

"If you had asked me last year, I'd have been right with you. But I'm _responsible_ now."

"I understand, Jack. I really do."

"Good." Jack nodded, then leaned over and kissed David's cheek. "I knew you would. Now give me a pen."

"Jack?"

"Dave, come on, he's my best friend. You think I'd miss having a part in this?"

David grinned. "You could get fired, though," he pointed out.

"Nah. You and mewe're in this together. I think we can move the world if we do it together."

David smiled over at him. "You're amazing, Jack."

"You're the one who wrote it." He accepted the pen from David and signed his name, then handed it back. "You're starting this thing at lunch? I'll have as much of the staff as I can on your side by then. Sneak around to the back of the dining hall and wait there for people to come sign."

"Thanks, Jack. You really think you can get other counselors to help?"

"Trust me, Dave." Jack beamed at him. "I think if you asked me to, _I_ could move the world."

David felt himself blushing as he put the cap on the pen, not quite able to look up at Jack, though he felt Jack's gaze on him. Finally, wondering where his eloquence had gone, all he could say was, "You'll never have to move it alone."


	29. Screaming and Shouting

Mrs. Higgins eyed David suspiciously all through breakfast, but he just smiled back at her. She must have known that he was up to something, but the petition wasn't ready to go yet, and he wasn't going to give anything away.

Jack had a copy of the petition now (laboriously hand copied, since the only copier at camp was in the office, and there was no way to sneak something like that past Denton) and had gotten half the counselors to sign it; the Delancy brothers were refusing, and a few other counselors weren't so sure, but Jack's charisma was going into overdrive, and David realized he was impossible to resist when he got going.

Not every single camper had signed, either, especially not the younger ones; but all of the seniors and juniors had agreed to sign and participate. And if peer pressure worked the way health teachers always tried to convince students it did in anti-smoking lectures, that should nicely shut up everyone else.

But Mrs. Higgins didn't take her steely gaze off of him for a moment, and David found himself nervous as the meal finally let out.

The morning was laborious--David couldn't concentrate in the theater and Medda lectured him in disgust. But she also winked at him, and David remembered Jack had charmed her into signing the petition, too.

He eventually gave up and went to archery, grimacing at the thought of going through Chauncey's safety lecture again, but it was outdoors and he could see the back porch of Racetrack's house from the range. Racetrack was sitting on his porch, as David knew he would be, and he waved.

David waved back and gave him a quick thumbs up, before Sneakers thrust a bow into his hands. "You got the safety lecture, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. Chauncey's off today and I have to keep the kids under control. Have fun."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

Sneakers demonstrated quickly, handed David an arrow, and hurried off to chase a group of seven-year-olds. So when David hadn't killed himself by lunch, he was  
impressed, especially given he was jumpy to begin with.

A hush fell over the group in front of the dining hall when David approached. He had one copy of the petition with him; Hotshot had the copy that had been circulated among the girls and handed it to him; Jack had his own copy with the counselor signatures. As Jack slipped it into David's hand he murmured, "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I'd better be."

"Stay strong." He nodded towards the dining hall door, which Mrs. Higgins pushed open, and she stared out at the group.

"No one is singing," she noted dryly.

David, no longer smiling at her jovially, walked up the steps and handed her the three sheets of paper which were covered in scrawled signatures. He stood silently as she read the first and glanced at the second two.

"Do you believe I can be blackmailed?" she demanded

David stared back at her silently.

"And you mean this as a serious protest?"

He said nothing.

"Come inside for lunch, all of you," she said, clearly going out of her way to keep a reign on her temper, and David wondered just how deeply this could cut her. She was supposed to be in charge and have close to absolute control over the camp, but now she had next to no power to stop their protest.

So that, he realized, was why she didn't lecture him in front of everyone else. He'd caught on that she had no control, but that didn't mean the rest of the camp had, and she wanted to lose as little face as possible.

The meal was awkward. Mrs. Higgins spoke to her husband, who answered, but mostly they were asking for dishes to be passed. A few counselors tried to convince their campers to gab, but the campers were steadfast; and like David had predicted, even the younger ones who didn't fully understand, or the few who had chosen not to sign, were cowed into keeping quiet by the overwhelming silence.

Announcements happened as usual, though the counselors who had to give them sounded awkward and hurried through everything they said.

When Mrs. Higgins excused the meal, she asked for David to wait and talk to her. He raised an eyebrow and waited, though he didn't plan to talk. Jack patted his shoulder reassuringly as he walked by.

"So this is your brilliant plan?" she scoffed.

He shrugged.

"And you really think that _these,"_ she shook the signed petitions he'd handed her, "will convince me to change my own parenting methods?"

He shrugged again.

"Just you wait, Mr. Jacobs. I am more stubborn than any sixteen-year-old, even my own son." She raised an eyebrow. "And I think, even more stubborn than you."

He smiled at her. _We'll see,_ he thought.

*

"Hey, Dave? Can I, uh, talk to you?" Blink asked, as they walked into the cabin after dinner--their second silent meal.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I just..." He sighed. "I dunno. Usually I'd ask Race about this kind of stuff, he knows about people, you know? But I guess you're pretty good with that stuff, too."

"I don't know about that," David said hesitantly. He'd never thought of himself as a people person. He was a cynic, he didn't even _like_ people.

Well. He didn't like _most_ people. The ones at camp he didn't mind so much.

"I just.. Kinda need help. I mean, you know about me and Smurf, right?"

"Not really, no."

Blink sighed and sat down on his bed. "Well... it's like this," he said, and launched into an explanation of everything that had happened with Smurf and Trixie and the doll. "The thing is," he finished up, "I just feel... _rotten_ about it. I didn't mean for it to be such a big deal, and I don't know how to apologize."

"Well..." David said hesitantly, not sure quite what to say. He was glad to finally know what had happened that had changed Smurf and Blink so much, but he really didn't know what to do. "You tried to clean the doll off, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you _did_ apologize, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Then there's not really anything else you _can_ do."

"But she's still mad at me!"

"I guess she has a right to be," David said. "But the thing is, you did everything you could, and you offered to make it up to her, but she wouldn't let you. Right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then there's nothing you can _do._ If she tells you something you can do to make it up to her, you should; but if she hasn't done that yet, she probably won't. So... you've done everything you can, and you don't have to feel bad about it anymore."

"I don't?" Blink asked hesitantly.

"You're really sorry and you told her, you tried to fix what you broke..." He shrugged. "After you do everything you can, there's no point in being upset anymore."

"You really think so?"

"I... I guess." David actually had no idea, but Blink looked so uncomfortable and like he'd been beating himself up over it for almost two weeks; and since Smurf obviously wasn't going to forgive him, it probably wasn't worth it. Especially not if she'd hated him to begin with.

"Does that mean I can go back to ignoring her?"

"Sure."

Blink grinned widely. "Thanks, Dave. That's a load off my back."

David smiled back at him, hoping that things would get back to normal and he hadn't just somehow made everything worse.

*

"Smurf, come _on._ You have to talk to him."

"I do _not,"_ Smurf snapped, as she, Trixie and Arrow walked back towards their cabin.

"You do," Arrow said. "Look, he's been _killing_ himself over this. And you told him all about your grandmother and it was a _lie."_

"Yeah, but..." She trailed off. There was really no way to defend against that. "He's such a jerk, I hate him."

"Yeah, yeah. You know I'm right."

"Yeah, but I _hate_ him," Smurf groaned.

"Look." Trixie pointed up towards the Higgins house.

Racetrack was sitting on the back porch in a lawn chair, a book held in one hand, though he was watching the girls filter into their cabins. Arrow waved and he waved back.

"That's creepy," Trixie said. "He's been there for two days. Do you think he can see inside our bunk?"

"I don't want to think about that. Let's go inside." Arrow glanced up at him again, and then hurried into their cabin. Smurf collapsed down on to the mess of her bed and Arrow sat down next to her. "So you'll talk to him?"

"I guess." She made a face. "Do I _have_ to?"

"_Yes_, you have to."

"Fine. But I hate you, too."

"No you don't. And you don't hate Blink either, so let him off the hook."

"I do _so."_

"Uh huh." Arrow glanced over at Trixie, who shrugged. They'd discussed their suspicions about Smurf's alleged hatred of Blink, but Smurf had blown off every attempt Arrow had made to ask her about it. Which made Arrow even _more_ suspicious.

It would certainly make her last summer at camp eventful, either way.

*

After a silent breakfast--not that much a change from the usual, as breakfast was always the most subdued meal--Smurf slowly wound her way down towards the sailing docks. She knew Blink would be at sailing, and she didn't want to talk to him; but she also knew that Arrow was right and she had to come clean. She'd been feeling a little guilty about it anyway, and just _really_ didn't want to do what she knew was right.

Dutchy and Irish were both already at the docks, along with a group of little kids. Blink hadn't arrived yet, but he showed up a minute after she sat down to wait.

"Hey," he said, to her surprise. She hadn't expected him to say anything to her.

"Hey," she answered suspiciously.

"Can I sit?"

She nodded and gestured at the sand next to her. He sat down. "Look, Blink--" she started, but he interrupted her.

"This is going to sound kind of mean but I'm going to say it anyway. I said I was sorry to you, like, fifteen times now and I felt really bad. But since you keep telling me there's nothing else I can do... I'm going to stop worrying about it now and go back to normal and stop feeling bad. So I just wanted to tell you that I _am_ sorry but I'm done being guilty now."

She stared at him for a second, then nodded. "Fine," she said. "I'm over it anyway."

"Good."

_"Good."_

"Fine."

She glared at him. "Besides, I don't want you to be nice to me, so that when I beat you in this session's race, it'll be even sweeter."

"We'll see about _that,"_ he answered.

He got up to go claim one of the sailboats, and Smurf let out a deep breath. Letting him off the hook without having to confess was perfect, and now life could go back to normal. No more fighting with Trixie, no more Arrow scolding her, and no more Blink acting _weird._

Now if only they could get Racetrack back, the summer would be almost perfect.

*

By lunch that day, the strain was beginning to show. Everyone had kept up the silence pretty well, but there were a few murmurs at tables, always followed quickly by a righteous, "Shh!" David was worried that Mrs. Higgins was catching on to how hard it was to keep the silence strike together, but when he really examined her at meals, she didn't seem to be doing much better.

She glowered around the room and meals ended as quickly as she could get them to; there were nearly no announcements, and those were rushed and stuttered. Mrs.  
Higgins looked angry and stabbed at her food harshly. All David could do was hope that her tolerance would go before the campers' resolve.

Dinner was even worse than lunch. It was a lovely evening and she'd come up with a trick: instead of dinner in the dining hall, they were having a cook out. And once everyone got outside and could spread out, it was almost impossible to keep quiet. David could hear quiet conversations at the outskirts of where the campers were gathered, but not too many; whenever Mrs. Higgins walked by, the hushed immediately and people would look guiltily at David.

It was clever, but not good enough. The strike held together for its fifth meal, and Mrs. Higgins held together too.

What no one noticed was that _Mr._ Higgins was not coping nearly as well as his wife.

After breakfast the next day (day three--meal six) he caught up with David, who was walking towards his cabin.

"David, we should talk," he said.

David raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.

"It's after the meal, you can _talk,"_ he repeated.

David shrugged. Technically that was true, but he was trying to make a point.

"Look, David, I don't like quiet. If I liked quiet, I wouldn't have had eight kids. This is the first time in thirty _years_ I've had quiet, and it's making me crazy." He ran a hand through his dark red hair and wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. "Call this off, it's ridiculous."

David shook his head no.

"You don't think this is ridiculous, or you won't call it off?"

David smiled. _Both._ But he didn't have to say it out loud.

"Well, I'll tell you that this _is_ ridiculous. You're interfering in a family matter, and..." He groaned. "And when Maria's upset, things are no fun at home, for Tony _or_ for me."

David shrugged.

"Look. Talk to me. Tell me why it is you think Tony should get another chance. My wife is very, very stubborn and she'll hold out until long after _I_ crack, and I want to get everyone out of this with egos and sanity in tact."

David hesitated, and Mr. Higgins could see that he was tempted.

"If you can convince me, I'll try and convince my wife. That's the best offer you're going to get. So... take it or leave it, but do it now."

He waited, and finally David nodded. "It just doesn't seem fair that he doesn't even get to defend himself when something happens. He's not a counselor here, but he's not a camper, either, so he gets all sort of responsibility dumped on him. He doesn't even get a say in whether or not he _wants_ it, and when he tries to say anything about it... he gets grounded. That's not _fair."_

"Sometimes life isn't fair," Mr. Higgins said. "He's our youngest son; we've had some practice at this."

"But you don't treat him the same way you treat the rest of your kids."

Mr. Higgins sighed. "I guess we don't always, no. We're trying not to make the same mistakes again."

"Maybe you haven't," David said. "Maybe you've made so few mistakes that he's a really good kid, and doesn't deserve such a ridiculously extreme punishment."

"Good kids don't fight with their parents."

"Good kids fight with their parents all the _time,"_ David said. "Because they _are_ good kids, they recognize when something's unfair. Maybe all they want is for their parents to realize they have something to say and take it seriously."

"I should really believe that my sixteen-year-old son has more to say about parenting than I do?"

"He's got more to say about being a sixteen-year-old than you do," David said. "And anyway, he's sixteen, and if he doesn't have anything worthwhile to say, well, who's fault is _that?"_

Mr. Higgins shook his head. "You ever considered becoming a lawyer?"

"Not really."

"You might want to." He sighed. "You'd be good at it."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

"Who says I _meant_ it to be?"

"Will you talk to your wife?"

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do. No promises. Just you consider shutting this down."

"I'll consider it when Racetrack is back at camp."

"I figured. Well... See you at dinner."

David nodded, and they parted ways. He crossed his fingers and hoped that Mr. Higgins would have some luck.

*

One advantage to being grounded away from camp--the only one Racetrack could think of--was that he no longer had to eat the camp food. Of course, now he had to eat his _own_ cooking, but it was still much better than what came out of the camp's kitchen.

He was just finishing up a dinner of overcooked pasta and unfrozen meatballs when dinner let out, and campers began to head back towards their bunks. He saw everyone on the main paths, but the boys' bunks were out of site. He watched the girls all head inside, a few shooting him quick glances, and he sighed loudly. He was _bored._

His parents wound their way up through camp slowly. When they arrived at the house, they were talking, which he took to be a good sign--they'd been yelling earlier. He hadn't been able understand what they were yelling from his perch on the porch, and didn't dare try and sneak closer for fear of being caught eavesdropping. (He wasn't quite sure what his mother would do to him, as he already had a life sentence, but he was positive she'd come up with something.) But now they'd calmed down enough that they were talking, not yelling. He couldn't hear that, either.

A minute later, the back porch door slid open. He heard them both step out on to the porch and no one said anything for a minute. "Hey, son," his dad finally said. "You mind if your mom and I sit down for awhile?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, not looking back at them. He heard his dad pull up a porch chair, and hesitantly his mother did too.

"I want to talk to you, Anthony," his mother said sharply.

He glanced over at her. "So talk," he said, just as sharply. He knew better than to take that tone--as his mother always said--but he was still angry at her and didn't want to apologize for it.

"I'll thank you not to take--"

"That tone, I know," he said. "But you're the one who stopped talking to _me_ for three days."

"Anthony--"

"Deep breaths," his dad interrupted. He glanced over at Racetrack. "I'm here to keep everyone calm. But you know you have to be polite to your mother."

"Yeah," he muttered, but was inwardly pleased. His father was mediating, which meant that somehow he'd talked sense into his mother. "So what do you want to talk to me about?" he added, giving in when she didn't say anything.

"Your attitude."

"I don't think it's that bad," he said.

"I don't appreciate it when my children talk back to me. And I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

He rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"That, right there," she snapped. "I'm your mother, show some respect."

His father cleared his throat. "Maria, he's got a right to be... upset," he said cautiously. Race almost snorted; not even his father wanted to risk his mother's rage.

"I will not tolerate--"

"Why don't you let the kid make his case?" his father asked.

Mrs. Higgins glowered, but nodded at Racetrack.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "I do everything you tell me, even when it's unfair, and you still get pissed of when I even say_ anything."_

"And what _precisely_ do you think is so unfair?" his mother asked icily.

Racetrack ignored her tone. "All the work I do around camp--I taught riding when Jack was sick and I helped move all the new capers in and I might a well work here--"

"So what's wrong with expecting you to do an honest day's work?"

"That you told me I was at camp!" he half-yelled. "I don't mind doing the work, but you never say please or thank you or even _ask,_ you just assume I have nothing better to do than whatever it is you want me to do at the moment, not just at camp, but all the time! You treat me like your servant and when I get sick of it you freak  
out!"

By the time Mrs. Higgins had opened her mouth to answered, Mr. Higgins had a firm hand on her shoulder. "That's a little extreme, Tony," he said.

"It's just _frustrating,"_ he said. "She never listens to a word I say, never. It doesn't matter what I want, and as soon as I want something she doesn't, I'm grounded. _That's_ what's not fair."

"That's not true--"

"Maria," Mr. Higgins said gently. "You said you'd listen to him, and he says he wants you to listen."

She scowled, looking like one of the campers for a moment. "I'm listening," she said. "What is it you want to say?"

He faltered. He'd had so much to say to her and was so angry, but now couldn't figure out _what_ to say. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a little kid anymore," he said finally. "I don't mind working sometimes but this is my last summer with all my friends here and I want to goof off, too."

She nodded a little.

"And just... I'm _sixteen,_ Mom. You treat me like you did when I was a kid, and you were never this strict with any of my brothers. I know I'm the youngest, but I'm not a _baby."_

"Yes, you are," she said. "You're my baby, my _last_ baby."

"I know I'm the youngest, but... I'm _sixteen._ When Dan was sixteen you caught him drinking and playing poker at a party where there were no parents, and he was only grounded for two weeks. I tell you I'll do what you want me to but I'm angry about it, and I'm grounded _indefinitely._ It's not fair."

"I suppose it's not. But if I can stop you from going to that party to begin with, then how is it wrong?"

"I wouldn't _go_ to that party! I'm not Dan or Paul or Mark or... any of them. You know I'm not going to go get wasted somewhere. You should trust me, give me a little credit. What have I ever done to make you think I'm not trustworthy?"

"I don't recall offhand, but I'm sure I could ask your _bookie,"_ she answered.

"That was three years ago."

"And if you were so _precocious _at thirteen--"

"I learned my lesson," he said. "I messed up _once_ and you're still punishing me for it. That's not fair _either_."

She had no answer for that, and he had nothing to say either. They just lapsed into silence. Mr. Higgins let out a deep breath. "So, let's work this out," he said. "So you two can figure out how to talk before you have another meltdown..."

*

David glanced at the steam rising from his cup off coffee watched the card game going on in front of him. He didn't really know how to play, but with Racetrack out of the loop, Spot was living it up as the camp's card shark. He'd managed to rope Blink, Mush, Ian and Skittery into a game of poker. Watching it was amusing, despite the foregone outcome. It really wasn't fair--Mush had a poker face, but no card sense, where Blink had neither. Ian wasn't too bad, but Blink was a bad influence and he couldn't keep his face straight when he had a good hand. Skittery was the closest contender, since he looked perpetually bored regardless of his hand, and he wasn't bad at cards, but he wasn't as good as Spot.

"So you think they'll cave soon, Mouth?" Skittery asked, sounding bored.

"Dunno," David said. "Mrs. Higgins is stubborn."

"No kidding."

"Mr. Higgins wants this over, though. He said he'd talk to her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence as Spot won another hand. "This is ridiculous. Mouth, you want it?"

"I think I'm okay just watching."

"Lame," Ian declared, and slid down on the bench to make room in the poker game. "Come on, we'll teach you how and Spot'll go easy on you for a round."

"You might even have beginner's luck," Skittery said. "Come on."

David hesitated. "I really don't think I'll be very good--"

"You can't be worse than Blink," Mush observed.

"Hey!"

"Come on," Spot said. "It ain't hard, just don't giggle every time you have a pair."

"I don't _giggle,"_ Blink said defensively.

David laughed a little and slid down the bench abandoning his coffee to become part of the group. "So how do you play?"

"Well--"

"I really think I'm the most qualified to teach that, hm?" a voice interrupted.

The whole group turned and stared. Racetrack was sitting on the table behind David, watching them. He'd come in quietly and motioned to everyone else to keep quiet about it, and the poker players gaped.

"Are you--are you _back?"_ David finally demanded.

"Yeah, I hear I have you to thank for that."

"Well, everyone, really," David said, and Race grinned and held out a hand. David stood up to shake it, and Racetrack gave him a quick pat on the back.

"Now, what was that about teaching Mouth to play cards?" he asked, sitting down at the table. "And more importantly, how many toothpicks are you planning to lose tonight, Conlon?"


	30. Caterpillars and Butterflies

Near the end of week five of camp (with David unsure of how time had passed so _quickly),_ was the oddest announcement he'd heard at camp. Mrs. Higgins glanced around the dining room after lunch and declared, "The meal is dismissed, but any butterflies who'd like to participate in this year's ceremony should stay behind to talk."

He blinked, and looked around his table. No one else seemed to find this announcement at all out of the ordinary, which made him wonder just what was going on. Only about two thirds of the campers began to file out, and finally, David hesitantly tapped Spot on the shoulder. "Um, what's going on?"

Spot laughed. "I forgot you were new, Mouth. You've never seen the ceremony before."

"Right. Um... Butterflies?"

"A butterfly is a camper who's been here for four years or more. Caterpillars are people in their third years. The ceremony is where a caterpillar becomes a butterfly."

"Okay, and you know you sound insane when you say that, right?" David demanded.

"Yeah." Spot shrugged like that wasn't a big deal at all.

David glanced back at the dining hall, and through the windows could see a group of campers and counselors gathered around one of the tables. "So you haven't been here for four years?"

"Nope. I'm a caterpillar."

"If you say so." He glanced back again. "So what's the ceremony?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Okay..."

Spot grinned. "Well, it's hazing. It's all good natured, but that's what it is. You'll see."

David shrugged. "I guess I will. When is this...ceremony?"

"I don't know. Sometime in the next few days, it's always a day or two after the big meeting... but they don't tell us in advance. We just wake up one morning and it's _on."_

"You sound like you're looking forward to this."

Spot laughed. "Well, every caterpillar does it."

David shrugged and they parted ways so he could go back to his own cabin, though, as he suspected, he was the only one there. Everyone else was a... butterfly.

No matter how well he fit in at camp, he couldn't help but think that some things were just _weird._

*

David did not like mornings. When left to his own devices he had been known to sleep until noon; his parents disapproved, so it rarely happened, but his idea of a good morning was one where he didn't get out of bed. He was also a fairly heavy sleeper, now that he'd adjusted to camp life, and so when his bunk mates snuck out of the cabin early in the morning three days later, he didn't even stir.

It wasn't until the bell started ringing and the sound of screams permeated the far reaches of the camp that David sat upright in bed, confused. No one was around, not even Sneakers. But the bell just kept ringing and the screaming grew louder and closer. He slid out of bed and stared out at the window, and finally a few people appeared on the path up to the cabins and in the field in the center of camp. They were definitely the source of the screaming, and as they got closer, David slowly worked out what hey were yelling.

One voice very clearly called out, "I'm the _happiest_ caterpillar, I'm the _prettiest_ caterpillar!"

As the group came closer, the first people David picked out were Racetrack and Spot, and he couldn't help but stare because Spot was wearing nothing but his swimming trunks and was covered in mud from head to toe, and most of the mud was covered in sand. There were strands of seaweed draped over his shoulders and in his hair, and David could barely make out his face through the mud.

"David!" Racetrack called, waving.

David waved back hesitantly. Behind Spot and Race were the rest of his bunk, and with them most of the campers who lived in Ferguson, all covered in mud and sand and seaweed.

Race and Spot hurried up to him and they met on the porch. "This is the... ceremony?" David asked.

"Isn't it great?" Race answered, and pinched Spot's cheek. "Tell Dave how much fun you've been having."

"Lots of fun."

"Aren't you _happy?"_

Spot glared at Racetrack for just a second before announcing, "I'm the _happiest caterpillar!"_

Racetrack was clearly too amused by this, though David was mostly just confused.

"Give David a big hug and tell him how much you love him," Race ordered.

Before David could object, Spot had wrapped his arms around him. "I love you, David."

"Oh, come on, say it like you mean it," Race scolded.

"I _love you,_ David," Spot said, sounding a bit more friendly and less like he wanted to kill Racetrack.

David blinked. "I... love you too?"

"Awww," Racetrack cooed. "See, hazing brings people together. C'mon, let's go say hi to my parents." He pinched Spot's mud covered cheek again. "What are you?"

"I'm the happiest caterpillar!"

"And what am I?"

"You're my _favorite_ butterfly."

"Woo!" Race began to jog off towards his house, and Spot rushed after him. David stared, but didn't have much time to wonder before everyone else flooded the porch and David found himself at the center of a giant, muddy group hug, being told how much everyone loved him, on orders from David's bunkmates.

"So you make them roll in the mud and then tell everyone they love it?" David asked, as Ian eagerly threw himself at him, dramatically hitching one leg up around David's waist.

"Yeah, pretty much," Skittery said, not sounding as bored as usual.

"And that's healthy how? Ian, seriously, get off me."

"But I _love_ you, man!"

Blink was cackling, and David looked at him oddly. "Can you get him off me?"

"Ian, let's go find someone else for you to love."

Ian bounced away and David was stuck with a line of other boys to hug before they finally left him on his own. Skittery paused on the way off and yelled to him, "Breakfast is at 10:30 today so we have time to get them ready! Don't be late, it'll be awesome! And bring your camera!"

Then they were gone, off to harass someone else, and David looked down at himself. He wasn't as muddy or sandy as the caterpillars, but he certainly wasn't clean. He sighed. At least there was time to shower before the late breakfast.

*

None of the caterpillars were present at breakfast, when it finally got started. Due to the ceremony, there were no table assignments, so David sat down next to Jack, who had a few sand stains on his face. Race sat down on his other side.

"This is going to be amazing," Race promised.

"I still think you're all insane and possibly demented."

"He got woken up by a hug from Spot," Race told Jack.

Jack laughed. "I'm sure Spot's going to look fabulous."

"I've been planning this for _months,"_ Race said.

"Planning... what?"

"The fashion show," Race said.

"Okay, um... what?"

"You'll see," Race said. "Man, Jack, I remember when we were hazed."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, and Sneakers wonders why I've been out to get him since then."

"You were hazed by Sneakers?"

"Yeah, he was still a camper back then. He liked to think he was my older brother or something, so he claimed me for his caterpillar."

"I knew you two didn't really hate each other," David said. "You two pranking each other all summerit's just a big game of got you last."

Jack shrugged. "What can I say, it's fun."

"What about you?" he asked Race.

"Oh, god. I was ten, they had twice as many butterflies as caterpillars"

"You don't feel a little ridiculous saying that?"

"and so two of my older brothers got together to haze me."

"That must have been awful."

"You can't even imagine. This whole thing is supposed to be good natured, and they... weren't." He shook his head. "It took me three hours to get the mud out of my hair."

David glanced at Jack. "And they let counselors get hazed?"

"Counselors haze counselors, campers haze campers," Jack said. "And it's all in good fun. Usually. I don't know quite how Spot's going to take it."

Race smirked. "Oh, Spot'll be fine. And he certainly will be the prettiest caterpillar."

Someone whistled sharply and Mrs. Higgins stepped up like she as going to make an announcement, but she was holding a wireless microphone. "Good morning!" she announced. "And welcome to Camp Yafeh's thirty-third annual cocoon ceremonywhere our caterpillars get to finally become butterflies."

There was a round of cheers from the gathered campers.

"So without further ado, we'll have our annual fashion show and let the caterpillars serve breakfast."

There was louder cheering, and music began to echo through the speaker systemthe bunny hop. The door at the far end of the dining hall opened, and the caterpillars started in, single file and moving slowly. There was no other way for them to move, as they were actually _doing_ the bunny hop. And when David saw what they were wearing, he finally understood why it was called the fashion show.

Most of the boys from Ferguson and about half of the senior girls were in line, slowly dancing their way through the dining hall, followed by younger campers. Everyone was dressed up in some sort of costume, though they weren't all neat, and they were almost all embarrassing. The first one David really noticed was Ian, who was cheerfully leading the dance, grinning back at the cheers and catcalls they were receivinghe was dressed, or rather, undressed as Tarzan. He was slightly cleaner than he'd been earlier, though not much; now he was wearing a loincloth and mud smears, and his hair had been pulled into a number of muddy dreadlocks. David _really_ hoped there was something underneath the loincloth, but couldn't tell.

Behind him were a few girls; David knew one of them was Mayfly (she blew Blink a kiss as she bunny hopped past them) and wasn't positive, but thought the other two were named Zodiac and Sodapop. They were all wearing costumes that seemed to be made mostly of feathers and mud.

A few of the other boys from Ferguson, Itey and Swifty, were sucking pacifiers and wearing sheets that had been tied as diapers. Some of the younger kids behind them were less dressed up and more unshowered from their morning on the beach in the mud.

Spot, however, was bringing up the back of the line.

"Oh, my god," Jack said, thwapping Race's shoulder. "You are a _genius."_

"Thank you, I know," Racetrack said, without modesty.

At the back of the line, Spot was the only person who wasn't at all muddy or sandy. Instead, he was _pristine._ He was also wearing a pink leotard and tutu.

"I told you you were the prettiest!" Race hollered at him, and Spot shot him a irritated, fake smile as they continued to dance across the dining hall.

Mrs. Higgins began announcing every costume and who had created it. Blink was responsible for Ian, David noted; and of course, Racetrack had been in charge of Spot's costume. (David felt a little guilty that every time he looked at Spot, he cracked up all over again; but on the other hand, Spot was the one who'd told him it was all in good fun.)

Finally they had hopped all the way into the kitchen, and a few minutes later emerged with the meal. Spot set the bread basket down on the table and looked over at Racetrack. "You do realize this is _war,"_ he said.

"Bring it on," Racetrack answered.

David leaned over to Racetrack as Spot walked away. "What kind of war is he talking about?" he asked.

Race grinned. _"Prank_ war," he said. "Beginning tonight, I'll bet."

"Beginning tonight? Not beginning with the first prank?"

"The whole camp has a prank war," Jack explained. "Counselors are only allowed to prank other counselors, but this way the camp can keep it under control."

"And they get to decide when it starts," Racetrack said, and looked at Jack. "Which is...?"

"I'm not telling," Jack said. "You mom said specifically not to."

"She did?"

"Well, she told me not to, since she new you'd ask. And you want to be treated like a camper, so..."

Race nodded, and seemed satisfied. "Don't worry," he said to Dave. "I've got all sorts of pranks ready to go."

"You know, somehow that's not exactly comforting," David said, as Spot came back with the rest of their breakfast.

*

David found himself on edge for the rest of the day; they settled into their usual after-lunch scheduled in the afternoon, but the morning had been too strange. Thankfully, Spot changed out of his tutu, and the rest of the caterpillarsnow full fledged butterflieswere allowed to shower and change as well. But still, the oddness of the morning left him kind of distracted until he got back to the cabin before dinner.

At which point, things got odd again.

He waited for the five thirty bell to ring, and it didn't; he waited for the five forty-five bell and that didn't ring either.

"This must be it," Racetrack said, as Sneakers walked into he bunk, looking smug. "Dare I ask?" Race asked.

"Jack's kind of brilliant when he's on your side," he answered.

"Where'd you hide it?"

"Hide what?" David asked cautiously.

Racetrack raised an eyebrow, and Sneakers grinned, and a loud horn blared from outside. David jumped a little and looked out the window, where Mr. Higgins was driving a mini-van down the camp path, one hand perpetually on the horn.

"Why is he doing that?" David asked.

"To let us know it's dinner time," Sneakers answered.

"And the bell is...?" David asked.

Sneakers raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's the question."

"Why is everything around here so _weird_ today?" David demanded.

"It was hazing day." Racetrack shrugged. "And I guess the counselors didn't want to wait to get the prank war startedthe traditional first prank is that they get together to steal the bell. Then everything is fair game."

"You guys stole the bell?" David asked.

Sneakers nodded. "Jack figured out where to put it. I think he's been planning it for a couple years now. C'mon, let's go to dinner."

Race glanced out the window and saw Spot sitting on the porch, looking bored. "It's on, Higgins," he said, standing as the boys filed out of the cabin.

"Believe me, I know." Racetrack smirked. "if you're waiting for us to leave, by all means." He gestured back at the cabin. "It's all yours."

"You'd like to _think_ I'm doing something, wouldn't you?"

"I'm pretty sure you are. You're not very good at mind games."

"Ha!" Spot snorted. "You'd like to _think_ that."

Racetrack rolled his eyes. "If I tell you I'm nervous I'll come back and you'll have moved the cabin or something, will you stop trying to be menacing? You're too skinny to be scary."

Spot glowered as they walked towards the dining hall. Racetrack didn't look at all nervous about whatever Spot might have up his sleeve, but David couldn't help but be a little jumpy. With the exception of Jack's prank against Sneakers, he'd hoped to not be involved in any pranks over the summer. He knew he was too much of a goody two shoes for that.

So when they made their way into the meal, he wasn't really very comfortable with it when Racetrack told him to save as many ketchup packets as he could.

*

When they got back to the cabin, they discovered saran wrap carefully placed over the doorsand toilet seats. Racetrack shook his head. "Typical."

"How'd he do it, Race?" Mush asked. "We all saw Spot, he walked with us to dinner."

Racetrack shrugged, and it was David who finally said, "He was a decoy. One or two other guys from his bunk could have been waiting."

Race nodded. "Don't worry, we'll get them back. Not that they _accomplished_ anything," he gestured at the pile of saran wrap they'd taken down, "but I have two plans. That decoy thing is good, since we'll need someone to sneak in to their bunk when everyone's gone, during activities tomorrow."

"Spot's usually at archery in the second hour," Sneakers said. "I can keep him there for a few extra minutes."

"I thought counselors could only prank counselors?" David asked.

"What? Maverick's a counselor, isn't he?"

There was a knock on the cabin door, and Denton pushed it open. "Rick?" he asked.

"Yo," Sneakers said, and David was a little bit surprised to remember that Sneakers had a real name. "What's going on?"

Denton frowned. "How did you get the bell out to the dock?" He frowned. "And how did you do it without us noticing?"

Sneakers grinned impishly. "Come on, you know I'm not telling that."

Denton considered, and nodded. "That's what Jack said you'd say. Of course, he said that was because you didn't know..."

"He said what?" Sneakers demanded. "Hey, I know!" He paused. "Why did you ask him first anyway?"

"Well, you know." Denton shrugged. "I figured I'd go right to the source. Goodnight, then."

"Right to the source?" Sneakers called after him. "I could have thought of it!"

"I think," Racetrack said, as Sneakers scowled, "that maybe Jack got you last."

Sneakers glared. "He's a counselor now," he finally said. "I don't have to go easy on him anymore."

"Anymore? I can see how seriously you take the rule about counselors only pranking counselors," David noted.

"Please, Jack wasn't a camper, he was... Jack." Sneakers shrugged.

"Now," Racetrack, gathering everyone's attention. "Did you all gather ketchup like I told you to?"

*

"I don't think I'd better participate in the prank war," Smurf sighed, shifting around the junk on her bed so she could lie down.

"Are you serious? You have to," Hotshot said. "We all have to, it's tradition."

"You probably shouldn't, either," Smurf pointed out. "If we get in trouble again, Mrs. Higgins will _kill_ us. And if I get sent home early, my parents would _kill_ me. Besides, I want to come back as a counselor, so I can't screw up again."

Hotshot groaned. "You're probably right. But it's _tradition._ They don't care if we pull pranks during prank week!"

"I think prank week is pretty stupid anyway," said one of the girls who'd come in for the second session, Slant. "I mean, we're friends with most of the people in the other bunk. This is just some stupid ritual, why should we be pranking our _friends?"_

"It's fun," Hotshot said.

"It's stupid, and I'm not going to participate," Slant answered.

"I can't," Smurf said.

Arrow looked a little surprised and added, "If Smurf is being mature enough to realize she shouldn't, I won't either."

Arrow kicked Trixie, who added, "Ditto."

Hotshot made a noise of disgust and turned to look at the other three bunk members, Swinger, Mondie an Mayfly.

"I ain't coming on that tab," Swinger said, and Hotshot ignored her because she had no idea what it meant.

Mayfly shrugged, and Mondie said, "I kind of think Slant is right... I mean, why prank our friends, when there are so many _better_ targets around?"

"Like who?" Hotshot asked suspiciously.

"Isn't it obvious?" she answered. "The boys."

Trixie snorted. "You just want an excuse to break into their cabin and go through Mush's things."

"Like you should talk," Mondie answered icily, and Trixie glared at her.

"Down girls, let's keep the estrogen freak out levels to a minimum," Arrow interrupted, cutting off the brewing fight. It wasn't the first time she'd had to come between them; her unofficial job was keeping peace in the bunk, and Mondie was almost as insane about her crush on Mush as Trixie was.

"Well, he asked _me_ to the dance last session," Trixie said haughtily.

"Because I wasn't _here,"_ Mondie shot back. "He hasn't even looked at you since I've been around."

"Only that you've seen, and that's not much, since he's been _hiding_ from you!"

"To be fair," Mayfly cut in, "he's been hiding from you, too." Both girls glared at her. "What?" she asked innocently. "I'm the only sane girl in the whole theater, he _talks_ to me."

"Yeah, and let's ask Blink just how sane you are," Trixie answered.

"Like Blink has any idea what sane is," Smurf mumbled.

Mayfly rolled her eyes. "Just because you don't appreciate him, Smurf, doesn't mean we all have terrible taste."

"Taste?" Smurf scoffed. "You call having a crush on that... one eyed, macho, swaggering jackass _taste?"_

Arrow shot a look at Trixie, who raised her eyebrows.

"Why do you even care?" Mayfly asked. "It's not like _you_ like him."

"Of course I don't like him, he's disgusting."

"So why do you even care if I like him?"

"I don't _care,"_ Smurf snapped. "I just don't get how anyone could like him. Ever. Ew." She looked over at Hotshot. "I'd be in if we're pranking the boys. I mean, how mad could Mrs. Higgins get?"

Trixie nodded, and so did Mondie and Mayfly. "That's a blip," Swinger agreed. Arrow sighed and nodded, and they all looked at Slant.

"I _guess,"_ she said, "if we can talk the other girls into it, I _could_ help out. A little."

"Great," Hotshot said. "Let's get busy planning, then."

*

It was Blink who ended up agreeing to venture into Ferguson the next morning. It made the most sense: David and Mush couldn't, because Maverick would have noticed them missing in the theater; Racetrack couldn't because he was too obvious (he'd agreed to go to archery to keep Spot from getting suspicious); Snitch couldn't because tennis was too close to archery, and Spot might see him; and Skittery had his riding lesson that hour. Which meant it was up to Blink, who was thrilled.

He spent the first hour swimming, and then went up to the cabin as though he just wanted to dry off and changebut after changing, he picked up the bag full of ketchup packets and snuck over to Ferguson. He ducked below the table so no one could walk by and see him in the cabin, and crouched there to open the ketchup packets.

There were footsteps outside on the porch, and he froze. Obviously if he got caught, there were no _real_ consequencesit was the principle of the thing. It would leave Ferguson with the lead in the prank war, _and_ be an embarrassing failure.

The door opened, and someone chucked a towel and a pair of flip flops inside, then the door shut again and the footsteps retreated. Blink let out a deep breath and waited a minute before going back to work. When all the packets were open, he waddled over towards Spot's bunk, still trying to keep his head down.

He pulled up the sheet, deposited a few ketchup packets, and pulled the sheet back into place. He moved on to the next bunk, and then the next; when he was finished, every bed except Maverick's was set up. He turned and smugly started towards his own cabin, and not a moment too soon.

As he glanced out the window, two of the boys from Fergusonboth new to the second session, Teach and Tagwere in sight on the path. He watched as they stepped onto the Pentland porch, and he opened the door and met them.

"Hey, guys, whatcha up to?"

"Uh..." Tag stared over at Teach.

"We were just looking... for... Racetrack," Teach said hesitantly.

"I hear he's over at archery, let's go meet him." Blink slung his arms around their shoulders and steered them back towards camp. He couldn't _wait_ to see what excuse they'd give Racetrack for sneaking into their bunk.


	31. Paranoia

Right around lights out, there was a series of angry yells from Ferguson. Racetrack smirked as Sneakers flipped out the light. "Should I ask what you what they're yelling about?" he asked.

"The thing is, if you apply weight to an open ketchup packet, it spurts. And if you don't know it's there because it's cleverly hidden beneath your sheets, and you lie down, it spurts all over your bed," Racetrack said up into the darkness under David's bunk.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened abruptly. Maverick stood in the door frame, illuminated by a flashlight. "I would just like to say thank you for not dumping ketchup on my bunk," he said. "And also, your parents are going to kill you when we have to do an emergency laundry run in the morning."

"Please," Race answered. "It's prank week. They knew what they were getting into."

Maverick glowered. "Just so you know, I'm not going to feel guilty when Spot gets you back."

Racetrack chuckled. "Then tell him to hurry up, huh? The anxiety is killing me. Now if you'll excuse us, it's lights out. 'Night!"

Maverick grumbled something unintelligible as he walked off.

*

Hotshot approached Murphy Two, still feeling a little irritated that the usual prank war was off. True, getting the guys would be fun; but she'd been looking forward to her final prank war all year. She knocked hesitantly on the door and waved a white tank-top, the closest thing she had to a flag of neutrality.

"What do you want?" demanded Lyr, one of the bunk's inhabitants, as she opened the door. Hotshot looked past her to make sure everyone was there, and they were; the girls in Murphy Two were Grammar (who had been there all summer), Lyr (shortened from Lyrics), Nova, Sodapop, Zodiac, Birdy, Quotes, Winger and Two-Bits. She didn't know most of them very well, since they tended to be slightly younger than the girls in her own bunk, who she'd been living with in various combinations every year she'd been at camp.

"I come in peace," Hotshot said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, right."

Hotshot shrugged. "My bunkmates and I were talking last night. We thought that instead of pranking each other, our bunks should team up."

"Why?" asked Grammar, coming to stand behind Nova.

"It was Smurf's idea. She thought it might be more fun if we teamed up and took on the boys instead. Maybe not even a lot of pranks... Just one big one."

Lyr glanced back at the others and nodded, then stood aside to let Hotshot in. "Like what?" she asked.

*

Swifty and Itey were late to lunch the next day, but refused to explain why. Everyone knew it was from the prank war, and they were admonished by Mrs. Higgins for being so late, but didn't explain. It was clear enough when the boys returned to their cabins what they had been up to: the entire cabin and the trees surrounding it were covered in toilet paper.

Racetrack rolled his eyes as Spot elbowed him in the ribs.

"Yes, it's lovely," Race said, and led the way inside. Spot scowled at him, clearly having hoped for a bigger reaction, and Racetrack smirked inwardly. He knew there would be worse pranks coming, but getting Spot's goat by not reacting was amusing enough for now.

As it turned out, the toilet paper wasn't all Itey and Swifty had been up to. Skittery discovered it the hard way when he went to the bathroom; the toilet flushed properly, but as it did so something else squirted from the tank, hitting Skittery in the side of the head as he turned.

"What?" he asked, wiping the water off with the back of his hand. "Weird."

The same thing happened to Sneakers a few minutes later, and he noted that the tank wasn't refilled. He frowned. "We seem to have a plumbing problem," he announced to the cabin as he wiped his forehead off with a towel.

"Is it gross?" Snitch asked, bouncing off of his bed to take a look.

"Not yet, but the tank isn't refilling so we can't really use it until that's fixed," Sneakers said.

"Ooooh," Racetrack mumbled.

Sneakers raised an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to share, Mr. Higgins?"

"Spot's first year here, he helped me sabotage Jack's toilet like that. It's really easy." Race shrugs. "I can fix it."

"Please do," Sneakers said. Racetrack shrugged and wandered into the bathroom.

"So what do we do to get them back?" Snitch asked.

Racetrack raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone up for breaking into the kitchen?"

*

Spot didn't like thinking of himself as paranoid, but on the other hand, paranoia seemed wiser than pretending Racetrack wasn't out to get him. And it was particularly important because this was the last year Racetrack would be a camper, and thus fair game in the prank warand so it was Spot's last chance to win. And Spot hated losing.

So paranoia it was, and thus he'd taken to skulking around and only returning to his bunk when he absolutely had toto sleep and shower. The rest of the time he spent plotting off by himself. If nothing else, it meant that any of Race's pranks wouldn't hit him, just someone else in his bunk.

But he did need to shower. That was an unfortunate fact of life. Even at camp, where cleanliness was hard to come by and he could swear he was still washing dirt and sand out of his bunk from the hazing ceremony, showers were an occasional necessity.

The best course of action, he'd decided, was to shower during an activity hour when no one else would be around. He'd test the shower first to make sure it worked properly (and if it didn't, no one was around to know) and no one was there to disrupt it. So maybe he was paranoid; but he was also reasonably sure it was justified.

With a towel wrapped around his middle, he turned the shower on. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, so Spot turned it off, hung up the towel, hopped in, and turned it on. The sound of the water (and his own habitual hum while showering) was loud enough that he didn't hear anyone else enter the bunk.

He did hear it when the door to the bathroom opened, and he tensed up, but didn't really have anywhere to go. There were definitely people lurking on the other side of the shower curtain, and all he could do was wait.

There was a pause, then someone said, "Ready?"

He struggled to place the voice through the sound of the shower, as a large pot of freezing cold water, complete with ice cubes, was dropped over the curtain. He froze up for a second, but most of it missed him; the icy spray only caught his arm and pooled at his feet.

"Ha!" he yelled. "You missed"

Another spray came over the curtain.

This one was flour, and it landed directly over his head, and the water instantly caked it to his hair and skin.

He sputtered for a moment, then cursed, as the bathroom door slammed shut.

*

Jack frowned.

He was fairly certain that not only had he not brought a pair of fuzzy pink slippers to camp, he didn't actually own a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. And he hadn't actually seen any of the campers in his bunk with a pair, either.

Their sudden appearance made a lot more sense when he discovered that somehow, mysteriously, overnight, every pair of socks, shoes, and flipflops he'd brought to camp had vanished.

It wasn't like he couldn't walk to the dining hall barefoot, he knew. But there was a rule against doing so in effect for the campers, after the fourth time Triage had to bandage cut up feet (and once remove a piece of broken glass). And flaunting the rules was discouraged, when he had so much trouble getting the campers to follow them to begin with.

Jack sighed, and slipped his feet into the (surprisingly comfortable) slippers.

"Interesting fashion statement," David greeted him at the dining hall.

"By any chance, was your counselor missing for awhile last night?"

David shrugged guiltily. "I was asleep. I, um, might have seen him come in really early this morning, though."

Inside, Sneakers was smirking and standing next to the lost and found, where Jack found every pair of socks and shoes he'd lost. "Got you last," Sneakers said, as Paint snapped a picture of him in the slippers.

"Laugh it up," Jack answered, and took his seat for breakfast.

*

As evening approached, Race had to admit he expected something; he knew Spot wouldn't let Pentland Bunk get away with the flouring that morning. And he didn't actually notice what was wrong at first.

He pulled off his hooded, camp-logo sweatshirt and tossed it up on to his bed, then looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. Which was odd, because he could have sworn he'd overheard Ian and Spot discussing some sort of sabotage plan. Not the details, but just enough to make him sure that something ought to be wrong in the cabinthey had definitely been planning to steal something.

He turned to David. "You see anything wrong with this picture?" he asked, gesturing around the cabin.

"No," David said, looking at him like he might have gone slightly insane. "Prank week makes you paranoid."

"No, Spot Conlon makes me paranoid."

David shrugged in a way that implied that, either way, Race was still paranoid and perhaps crazy. But Racetrack was used to thatit was half the fun of prank week, really.

It took another two hours before he discovered what was wrong, and lights out aside. Still certain he was missing something, he clamored up into bed, flopped down, and yelled, "Ow!"

At the other end of the cabin, Skittery flicked the lights back on. Race sat up and pulled his sheet back to reveal... the wooden board that should have been under his mattress.

His mattress, however, was nowhere to be found.

"What's the matter?" Sneakers asked from his own bunk, sounding lazy and amused. He'd been in a good mood all day, though.

"Spot stole my mattress!"

"What?"

"He stole my mattress," Racetrack said again. "My sheets and blankets and pillows are here. But that's it."

Sneakers got out of bed to examine it, and sure enough, there was no mattress on Racetrack's bed. "Huh," he said. "Well, that sucks."

"Thanks for those words of wisdom." Race rolled his eyes and glanced out the bunk's windowto see Spot was watching out of the back window of Ferguson, smirking. He waved upon seeing he had Racetracks attention, then flipped the lights out and went to bed.

Sneakers shrugged. "I guess you can use my upper bunk tonight."

"Great," Race muttered, and began to move his bedding to the spare bunk, highly irritated.

*

Unlike Jack's footwear, Race's mattress did not mysteriously reappear. Racetrack, however, was unwilling to simply ask Spot where it was. And Spot, irritatingly, didn't say anything which might have given it away, not even to brag. So Racetrack pretended he was unaffectedafter all, there was the spare mattressand Spot continued smirking.

Race cold only stand so much, however. Finally, after lunch the next day, he stomped up to Spot, who smiled back at him. "Can I help you?"

"You. Me. Poker tomorrow night. Winner takes all, including the prank war. And my mattress."

"Yeah, you'll never guess where that is," Spot said. "But why would I want to risk it all on a poker game when I'm winning already?"

"Fine," Race said nonchalantly. "If you're scared, I mean, I understand. Can't blame you."

"Whoa, who said I was scared? I was just making a point."

"And?"

"I'll be there," Spot said.

Racetrack smirked. "Good," he said. "I'll see you then."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

"Fine," Racetrack snapped, and stomped away. He could practically feel Spot smirking after him, but refused to look back and see.

*

Counselor laundry was supposed to come back on Thursday. Sneakers, however, was not terribly surprised to discover his own clothes bag was 'lost'. He rolled his eyes at Jack, who smiled back at him. "You're paranoid. Besides, you've still got plenty of clothes in your cabin, right?"

Sneakers didn't say anything to that, but he did hurry back to Pentland to make sure that he did, in fact, have plenty of clothing in his drawers, which he did. So he was only mildly paranoid that night, and certainly didn't think anything of doing what he normally didsleeping in a pair of comfortable boxer shorts.

The rest of his clothing didn't go missing until the next morning, when he woke up and discovered it was all gone, leaving him nothing but the boxers he was wearing to go to breakfast in. Which led to numerous catcalls, Paint blowing him a kiss, and Jack pulling out his camera as Sneakers walked in the door.

"Okay, point made, Kelly," Sneakers muttered, feeling himself blush as people gawked at him. "Where's my clothing?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Jack answered. "But I've been meaning to ask you, why is there a mattress on the roof of your cabin?"

"What?!" Racetrack screamed, and turned to glare at Spot, who shrugged innocently.

"I told you you'd never guess," Spot answered.

"Bite me," Race replied.

*

"You really think they can take care of it?" Hotshot whispered as they walked into the dining hall for what promised to be the most intense poker game of the summer.

"It'll be fine," Smurf answered. "Stop worrying."

"I hate not getting to do the deed myself."

"You've said that nine hundred times. We can't do it ourselves, we have to be here where they can see us here so we can't get in trouble and be kicked out of camp."

"I still hate it."

"I don't care anymore," Smurf snapped and sat down.

Hotshot rolled her eyes.

"And don't look so conspicuous."

"Yeah, yeah." Hotshot glowered at her for a second, then turned to Spot, who was stretching like it was some kind of sports event, while Race looked on, amused. "Hey, good luck, Conlon!"

Spot glanced up, shrugged a little, and went back to stretching, before finally walking to the table where Race was waiting.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Racetrack asked. "I ask as a friend, because I know how upset you get when you lose."

"Why don't we let the cards talk instead, huh?" Spot asked.

"Your funeral."

"Did you get your mattress down?" Spot asked. "'Cause you'll probably want to cry in bed for awhile when this is over."

"Uh huh. Says the guy who's never won."

"I think that means I'm due."

"I think that means you suck," Race answered.

"Are you going to deal the cards, or what?"

Racetrack produced his deck of cards and began to shuffle.

They hadn't even finished the first hand when the rest of the girls' unit arrived in the dining hall. No one really noticed it, as everyone who didn't know what was going on was already busy watching the card game. But Smurf and Hotshot, and the few who'd accompanied them to begin with, glanced over; Grammar nodded back at them. It was done.

The game continued. To everyone's great surprise, Spot won the first hand. Racetrack didn't react at all, as Spot gloated. He was in full out poker mode, and though he still talked and joked with the people around him, he let on nothing about the game. Spot clearly tried to keep his smugness in check, knowing that there was a long game ahead of him, but he wasn't as good at it.

It was another three hands latertwo to Race, another to Spotwhen Sneakers and Maverick walked in to the dining hall, neither one looking too pleased.

"Gambling, Racetrack?" Sneakers asked.

"Toothpicks!" Race said insistently. "Nothing's wrong with that. Besides, winner takes the prank warand you wouldn't want us to lose, would you?"

Sneakers rolled his eyes, but didn't actually disagree. Maverick, on the other hand, cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, whoever set off the stink bomb, it got both cabins. And it's disgusting."

Racetrack frowned and looked at Spot, who looked confused. "Way to go," Race said.

"It wasn't me," Spot answered, and looked at the counselors. "What happened?"

"Both cabins have this awful... sticky-sweet, nauseating odor," Sneakers said. "All the beds were doused with it. So I went to go complain to him," he pointed at Maverick, "because of the no-destruction-of-property rule, but your bunk was just as bad."

Spot studied Race, and Race watched him back. Finally, Spot said, "It wasn't us. I was already winning."

"Not for long," Race said, glancing at his cards. "But it wasn't us, either. Why would we stink up our own bunk?"

"Then who did it?"

The girls in the dining hall looked around at one another, none of them speaking, trying not to look too guilty.

Except that not all of them were too good at looking innocent, and when Racetrack glanced around at them, his gaze lingered on Hotshot, who shrugged thoughtlessly. He glanced behind her at Smurf, Trixie and Arrow, and none of them reacted, either.

It was Slant who eventually laughed nervously, as though she were trying to dispel the tension in the room, but everyone stared at her.

"What?" she asked. "What?"

Racetrack cleared his throat. "Nothing. Let's finish our hand, huh, Spot?"

Spot nodded cautiously. "Yeah," he said.

Arrow cleared her throat. "You know what? Poker is really boring. Besides." She smiled a little. "Who cares? They're both losers. Come on."

The boys watched her go, followed by the rest of the girls. Racetrack looked up at the two counselors, who had taken seats.

"So?" Sneakers finally said.

"Oh, did you want me to react to that?" Racetrack asked, smirking. "Well, if we're both losers, I don't see too much point in finishing this card game."

"You giving up?" Spot asked.

"No, giving you the chance to."

"Yeah, right."

Race shrugged. "What I was saying was, you and I could play cards all night. Someone, and I think we can guess who, just got us both."

Spot looked down at his cards, then up at Racetrack. "So... We've got a common enemy."

"Exactly. And we can either play cards and ignore it..."

"Or we go after it together." Spot looked over at the boys from his bunk, then back at Race. "You wouldn't want to call this game off unless you were worried I'd win."

"You wouldn't take me up on it unless you were worried I'd win," Race countered.

Sneakers added sardonically, "And aren't we all winners at this camp?"

Race held out his hand. "The thing with my mattress was pretty good."

"Yeah, it was." Spot hesitantly shook his hand. "But you'd have gotten back at me."

"And now we both get back at someone else."

Spot nodded. "Enough chatter. Let's plan."

"Or," Maverick said, "we could all go clean up the two cabins, before the stench gets any worse."

*

It turned out that the cabins both reeked of girls' perfume. It seemed like it had been diluted enough to douse all the beds, but not so much that it didn't stink. All of the windows were opened and the beds stripped, but not quickly enough to get the smell out.

The perfume also turned out to have another, unexpected side effect.

The first raccoon showed up before they'd finished stripping their beds, following the smell. A skunk followed it, and then another raccoon.

"That's not good," Sneakers commented, as he hurried the campers back out of the cabin. He looked down at Ferguson, and saw another skunk make its way inside; a minute later, Maverick and the campers hurried out.

The two groups met between the bunks.

"I think it's safe to say this wasn't intended," Maverick said. "It's just a pain."

Sneakers groaned. "You go to the infirmary and radio up to the Higgins'." He looked around at the irritated campers. "And we'll go wait in the dining hall." He looked at Race. "Not that I'm encouraging you, but this is so not over."

*

"So what do you think they're gonna do?" Slant asked.

"Well, it wouldn't be anything if you hadn't given it away!" Hotshot snapped.

"Like they wouldn't have guessed," Arrow reminded her, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, it can't be too bad. All we did was spray a little perfume."

"Yeah," Mayfly said. "A little. Right."

"Well... There's nothing we can do about it now," Arrow said.

"I'm beginning to think we didn't think this through," Trixie added.

"Oh, stop worrying," Hotshot said. "It's just a prank. That's all they're going to do, too. Jeeze."

"So I suppose you're not at all worried?" Mayfly demanded.

"Well, not worried. Exactly." She shrugged. "Like Arrow said, there's nothing we can do now."

"Very philosophical," Mondie said. "I hope Mushy darling isn't too mad at me."

Trixie rolled her eyes. "He would be if he heard you call him that."

"Like you know anything about him."

"I know more than you do!"

"Oh, stop fighting," Mayfly said. "He thinks you're both crazy, so what's the point?"

"And why should they listen to someone with your highly questionable tastes?" Smurf asked.

"Not this again." Arrow rolled her eyes. "Can't we go a single night without having this same argument?"

"It doesn't really look that way, doe sit?" Slant sighed. She leaned back on her bed. "This waiting is making me paranoid."

"Well, whatever they do, it won't be tonight," Mondie said. "It's tomorrow we have to worry about."


	32. Pranks and Plagues

With the lights out and both Sneakers and Maverick off running two cabins' worth of sheets at an all-night laundromat, there was no one to stop the boys' planning session. "What hurts isn't the perfume, so much as being kicked out of our bunk because of a bunch of stupid animals," Spot muttered, staring up at the ceiling of the dining hall. "And I bet they didn't _know_ it would attract stupid animals."

"So what do you want to do about it?" Race asked.

"Get them back."

"Duh," Race said. "I meant, more specifically, what do we want to do to them?"

"I suppose letting it go isn't an option?" David mused.

"Don't be lame, Mouth," Snitch answered.

"And can I just say how glad I man that that nickname caught on?" David added darkly.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Skittery answered.

"So what are we going to do?" Spot demanded.

"Why must I be responsible for everything?" Racetrack sighed. "I'd say some well placed insects, but that's already been done this summer."

"But I do like the idea of chasing them out of their cabins," Spot said. "It's only fair."

"Ways to get girls out of their cabins for awhile..." Racetrack said. "Let's see. I suppose my parents wouldn't like us to set anything on fire..."

"No kidding," David said. "I mean, you only just got off the hook for not doing anything wrong; imagine if you tried arson."

"No fire, what else you got?" Spot asked.

"I guess flooding goes along with fire, and we really shouldn't destroy anyone's property. That would make my mom pretty mad."

"And we don't want that," David agreed.

"Even though they kind of did that to us," Spot put in. "I mean, not destroyed. But Maverick and Sneakers have hours of laundry to get done."

"Jack ought to appreciate that," David added, mostly to himself.

Race snorted. "No kidding. Okay. So animals overran our bunks. We could do that to them back."

"What kind of animals?" Spot asked.

"Uh... let's see," Race mused. "Frogs. Snakes. Other various small and vaguely slimy things one might find in a stream or under a rock..."

"And where are we going to find these creatures?" Spot asked.

"Presumably under rocks or in a stream," David said.

"Shut it, Mouth. Race, you know where we can find anything?"

"Spot, I've lived here my whole life. _And_ I have seven older brothers. You think I can't find a couple frogs and snakes?"

"Your brothers showed you where?" Snitch asked.

"No, my brothers used to throw them at me; I followed them back to their natural habitat."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not," Spot said.

"I wouldn't put it past his brothers," David said, thinking back to the insane dinner he'd spent with the Higgins family.

"So we're agreed?" Race asked. "Give me a day to plan. This is going to be..."

"Awesome?" Snitch suggested.

"Something like that, anyway."

*

Race knew the camp territory very well; not just the main section of camp, but the extended land that was used for hiking and campouts. He knew where to find a small stream that fed into the lake, and also where it got a bit bigger and the land around it became slightly swamp-like. And his mother was only _slightly_ suspicious when he suggested that the senior boys spend a day hiking; of course they couldn't go alone, but Maverick volunteered to take a day out of the theater (with Medda's permission, of course) and supervise the hike.

Maverick also knew what they were up to, because Race and Spot had had a short discussion with the two boys' counselors, who had been none too thrilled about their night doing laundry. They didn't know exactly what had happened, little enough to deny knowing anything to Mrs. Higgins, but since everyone expected some sort of return prank, that wasn't too hard.

David did not enjoy hiking. He enjoyed Maverick's attempts at getting them to chant and sing as they hiked even less. By the third time through _Everywhere We Go_, he found himself seriously contemplated accidentally leaving a toad in Maverick's bunk, but since he was distracted by slapping mosquitoes and trying not to step in squishy mud holes so deep his entire ankle would get swallowed, he didn't have much energy left for planning revenge.

The matter of transporting the animals was a bit more difficult. Racetrack assured the group repeatedly that the snakes were non-poisonous, and so they were summarily dropped into a canvas bag. The frogs were another matter; they didn't want to drop them in the bag with the snakes, and bagging them at all seemed hard. They didn't want to accidentally hurt them, and frogs were less flexible than snakes and could break legs. But frogs could also easily jump out of pockets, and carrying them was a bit too suspicious.

It was Ian who realized that cargo pockets were a perfect solution. They were large enough to fit a frog, and they shut with buttons to keep the frogs inside. Of course, only fou boys were wearing cargo pants or shorts, but that meant that they were able to hold eight frogs, which seemed like a pretty decent amount.

"The hard part is going to be sneaking in to the bunks," Racetrack explained. "It has to be close to bed, if we want the animals to actually be _in_ their beds. But we need to get them all out of their cabins."

"And we're going to do that how?"

"Well, so far my only idea is to spread the rumor that Mush is going to do a strip tease in the dining hall before lights out, which I think would do the trick nicely."

"Um, excuse me?" Mush said. "I... what?"

"Well, so far I'm the only one who's come up with anything for this prank, so if you've got a better idea, speak up," Race said.

"Well, you wouldn't really have to strip," David said. "I mean, if we spread the rumor that should _get_ them there."

"Not every girl has a crush on me," Mush objected.

"Enough of them do, and the rest would be curious, ya cutie," Ian said, and pinched Mush's cheek, his fingers still muddy from catching frogs.

"Then I guess the question is, if we get them there and Mush doesn't strip, how do we keep them there for long enough?" Spot asked. "Especially because they're going to be on the look out for someone to cause trouble."

The boys fell quiet as they walked back towards their bunks, done with the alleged hike. Everyone was muddy and wet; they had the rest of the afternoon off of activities so they'd have enough time to clean upthere were only four shower stalls go to around, after all.

"I don't care how desperate we are, I'm not stripping," Mush objected, as they walked in to the cabins.

"And since fire and flooding are still out..." Race sighed. "Well, maybe if we work quickly."

"Or maybe," David said, a half-formed idea coming to him, "what if we just cause a scene?"

*

The fight started during the evening, after-dinner activity. They were doing three-legged races, each cabin picking one representative. It wasn't coincidence that Spot was chosen from Ferguson or that Racetrack was chosen from Pentland, and they started bickering almost as soon as their legs were tied together.

Spot didn't get _really_ mad until they tripped halfway through the obstacle course, which meant they lostto be more specific, they lost to the very girls who had pranked them two nights previously. Fighting about _that_ was perfectly believable.

An hour later, sure enough, the rumor that Mush was going to striphe'd been dared to, according to the rumorhad all of the girls in the dining hall, even the ones who had never shown any interest in Mush before. And though Mush was flattered, he was also mildly terrified.

So, when he turned to the girls and declared, "You are _all freaks,_ who said I was going to strip?" the horror in his voice was genuine.

Ian gleefully waved. "That was me! Oooh, got ya, huh?"

"That's your idea of a prank?" Mush demanded.

"Well, it got you all worked up, didn't it?"

"God, you people are so immature," Race said, still glaring at Spot, as he had been since the tumble during the race.

"You're just pissed off that you never found your mattress!"

"I did so!"

"Not until after Jack told you where it was, and anyway, you know I would have won the prank war, _and_ I'd have won at cards, and you're just jealous."

"Me? Jealous of _you?_ Believe me, Conlon, that would never, ever happen."

"Hey, hey," put in Teach, one of the new boys in Ferguson. "Can't we all just calm down?"

"I'm perfectly calm," Spot answered. "Higgins is the one who's freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," Race said. "And anyway, you want to talk about jealous? Try your _mom,_ every time I talk to another girl."

_"My_ mom?" Spot echoed. "Please, someone tell me he didn't just talk about my mom."

"I think he did," Ian said.

"That was a low blow, Higgins."

"Yeah, that's what I told _her."_

Spot sputtered for a moment, then reached for the salt shaker on his table and hurled it at Racetrack. It glanced off of Race's shoulder, and Race let out a swear word, dove for the tray of cookies on his table, and flung the contents at Spot.

No one moved, or even thought to.

*

Sneaking in to the girls' section of camp was harder than David thought. True, there was only one female counselor on patrol; but it didn't take too long to walk the circuit all the way around the cabins and back. And though it was Chauncey's day off, Paint was still in camp; true, Sneakers had agreed to try and keep her busy, but they didn't really know how long she'd be out.

The fact that they were carrying live animals didn't help any. The frogs had been placed in a cardboard box, which was closed; the snakes were still in the bag.

David looked nervously at his cohorts. He, Skittery, Tag, and Itey had been chosen to sneak into the girls' cabins and drop the animals off. But they had to do it quickly and without turning on any lights, so they didn't accidentally attract attention. "Remember," he hissed, as they came up towards the girls' area and looked around for the counselor on patrol, "two in each bed, and pull the covers up. We meet back at the equipment shed."

"I think we all got it," Itey answered, rolling his eyes a little, but they all started forward quickly, making a beeline for the two cabins.

David could feel his heart pounding as he hurried on to the porch of Murphy One and ushered Skittery inside. The interior of the cabin was almost identical to their own, except messier; not all the bunks were _terrible,_ but the two in the middle were.

"They might never _find_ the animals," Skittery said, quickly opening the box to pull out the first frog. They'd agreed to get the top bunks first, since they could be seen more easily through the window than when they were crouched over to do the bottom beds.

David was not exactly a fan of touching the frogs or the snakes, but when one of the snakes bit him, he managed to stifle the yell. He also dropped the snake, but since he'd been leaning over the bed, it didn't fall too far and its landing was cushioned. "Son of a...." he muttered, and shook a few drops of blood from his finger.

His first thought was actually that he could see whoever's bunk this was going crazy and DNA-scanning the blood drops to discover who dropped the snake in her bed. The second was that he really hoped Race was right, and the snakes were non-poisonous. The third was that he really, really needed a band-aid, because it was continuing to bleed.

"Owwwwwww," he added.

"Shhh," Skittery hissed. "Let's just do this and get out of here."

"It bit me!" David answered indignantly. "And it won't stop bleeding."

"Well, suck on it."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do with _poison_ bites?" David asked nervously, eyeing his bleeding thumb.

"Yeah, but it can't hurt, right?"

David though about the germs which would be spread to the bite if he stuck it in his mouth. Then he thought about the hopefully-non-existent poison, and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Skittery rolled his eyes, grabbed the box of frogs, and finished the upper bunks by himself. David did his best to help with the bottom one-handed, but as his thumb kept bleeding, he wasn't much use.

Finally, Skittery finished up, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's go meet the others," he muttered, and they checked to make sure no counselors were in sight before dashing out of the girls' section of camp and back to the equipment shed. Itey and Tag were already waiting.

"What took you?" Itey asked.

"Mouth got bit." Skittery gestured.

David held up his thumb. "Do you think this is swelling?"

"Kind of hard to see through the blood," Itey answered.

"Oh, man. I need to go to the infirmary," David muttered.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tag asked. "I mean, you don't really want to explain what happened, do you?"

David looked at his thumb and groaned. "Is there a first aid kit in the dining hall?"

"In the kitchen, I think," Skittery said. "Let's go, before they run out of steam."

But in the dining hall, it was very clear that no one had run out of steam at all. Racetrack and Blink had Ian pinned to a table and were grinding cookies into his hair, while Spot had Mush backed into a corner and was throwing napkins and sugar packets at him. The place was in chaos; everyone was shouting and though there wasn't enough food out for a proper food fight, all of the benches seemed to be overturned, the cookie platter was on the floor and all that remained of the cookies were crumbs; someone had spilled the carafe of coffee and knocked over the stacks of cups. The boys who weren't trapped or trapping others were chasing each other around frantically, throwing whatever came to hand. Several of the girls had joined in for the hell of it, but most of them were huddled in the back, fascinated and mildly terrified.

But before David had a chance to get into the kitchen and find the first aid kit, the door to the dining hall banged open again. _"What the hell is going on here?!"_

He looked behind him, terrified, and saw that Morris Delancey was glaring around the room menacingly. David was suddenly very glad they hadn't been caught sneaking around, since the Delancey brothers were merciless about infractions. At least, that was their reputations; David didn't think anyone had been caught since he'd been there, but he'd heard about previous summers, and it made sense based on what he did know about the Delanceys.

Everyone froze, and finally Ian slid off the table and shook the cookie crumbs out of his hair.

"Uh," Racetrack said. "We were just... goofing around," he said.

"Well, now you're going to clean up this mess," Morris said. "And then you're all going back to your bunks, and I'm going to write up a report to give to Mrs. Higgins, and I don't think she'll be too pleased."

"Well, actually, if we clean up, I don't think she'll be too upset," Racetrack answered. "Not that I'd have any idea what Mrs. Higgins might think."

"Shut it, smart mouth," Morris answered,

Racetrack smirked a little bit, but what he said was, "Come on, let's get the brooms."

"Uhhh..." David followed Racetrack towards a broom closet, flanked by a few others, and muttered, "I kind of need a band-aid _really badly._ Are you sure about that, um, non-poison thing?"

"Positive," Race said. "Whyoh. Yow," he added, seeing David's thumb. He turned back to Morris. "Someone stomped on David's hand, he needs to clean it up before he passes out from blood loss." He grabbed David's wrist and held up his hand for Morris to see. "Can he go take care of that?"

"Whatever," Morris answered.

Race grinned back at him. "You're positively benevolent, Morris."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Morris demanded, as David walked into the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Racetrack asking if anyone could define the word for Morris.

*

Though they'd joked about it, no one had actually expected the yelling to be audible from the boys' cabins. And so, several minutes after Morris marched them back to their bunks, it was a pleasant surprise to hear distant shrieks.

"Music to my ears," Racetrack murmured.

Twenty minutes later, Denton swept into their cabin. "Guess where you're all going to be directly after breakfast tomorrow?" he asked.

"On an all-expenses paid trip to Paris?"

Denton regarded Racetrack for a long moment, then declared, "I'm very glad you aren't my son. I don't think I'd have the patience."

Racetrack grinned back at him. "You know, I get that an awful lot."

"Imagine my surprise. Rick," he said, turning to Sneakers, "do you have any idea what these gentlemen have been up to?"

"Well, Morris said they were messing up the dining hall pretty badly." He shot a sideways look at Racetrack, who shrugged innocently.

"Someone has dropped a significant number of snakesand frogsin to the senior girls' bunks."

"Couldn't have been us," Skittery said easily. "We were all in the dining hall."

"I've got the cookie crumbs down my shorts to prove it," Snitch said.

"Wow, didn't need to know that," Mush added.

"Be that as it may," Denton said, "you are all going to be in my office directly after breakfast to explain yourselves to Mrs. Higgins. She's very much looking forward to it. Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You can probably make it to the state border by sun up if you hitchhike."

*

Sun upor a least, the first bellfound Racetrack whistling.

"How are you so cheerful when you know you're going to die?" David demanded testily.

"You're grumpy," Racetrack said.

"My thumb is still throbbing."

"But if it hasn't turned green or fallen off, that's a good sign the snake wasn't poisonous."

"I thought you said you were sure it wasn't!" David yelped.

"Well, I was _pretty_ sure," Race said. "And anyway, my mom is going to blame me, so you'll all be off the hook."

"Then why are you so cheerful?" David repeated.

"Because between the screaming from their bunk, and getting to destroy the dining hall, I had a great time." Race shrugged. "And that's going out with a bang."

They all trudged in the dining hall. The meal wasn't much fun, except for a brief moment while walking in to it, when Jack sidled up next to David.

"So, guess who has patrol duty tonight?" he asked quietly.

"You, I assume?"

"Yup. And you know you, it would just _suck_ if you snuck out tonight, too." Jack winked at him.

David flushed a tiny bit, momentarily forgetting that Mrs. Higgins was going to kill them. Part of him immediately balked at the idea of sneaking out; it was definitely against the rules, and he'd be in enough trouble anyway. But then he remembered he'd snuck out twice before, though he'd been caught the first time; and it meant he would get some time alone with Jack.

Time alone with Jack trumped all else.

Breakfast was fine, despite the dread. And after the meal ended, Mrs. Higgins accompanied them up to the camp office. It was rather cramped, and she sighed.

"Gentlemen, I don't think I need to say how disappointed I am," she said flatly. "Someone could have been badly injured. Mr. Jacobs, why am I not surprised to see you have on a bandage?"

"What, this?" he answered, looking at his thorn. "I ran into a pricker bush. Not very coordinated. I'm sure you noticed."

"I noticed that every time there's any sort of trouble, your name is almost as high on the list as my..." She gazed at Racetrack for a moment, then sighed. "I'm very disappointed," she said again.

"...And?" Racetrack finally asked, when she said nothing else.

"Don't do it again."

He blinked. "That's _it?"_

She nodded. "The girls got the exact same speech when they perfumed your bunk; it would hardly be fair to do worse to you, during prank week. However, the week ends now, and I don't want to have any more trouble from _any_ of you." She looked directly at David. "Is that understood?"

Everyone nodded quickly, a little amazed. They started to shuffle out of the office, and she cleared her throat. "Mr. Jacobs, have Triage look at your thumb. I'd rather not get sued if it falls off."

"He promised they were non-poisonous!" David called back.

*

Triage made David ice the snake bite for an hour, put an anti-bacterial cream on it, and sent him to activities. And, amazed that they hadn't all been kicked out of camp, and relieved that the prank war was over, he found himself looking forward to his evening with Jack. He spent most of the day in the theater, slightly distracted; and the day seemed to go far too slowly for his liking.

He spent dinner shooting quick glances at Jack, who grinned back at him as subtly as he could manage. The after-dinner activity seemed torturously long. After that, it was an effort to not snap at everyone in the pre-curfew snack, but he was relieved when it was finally lights out.

David stared out the window as he waited for everyone to sleep, and saw Jack go by with his flashlight three times. Then, around eleven-thirty, he was sure he was the only one awake. Giddy with the thought of finally, _finally_ being able to spend time alone with Jackhe realized they'd been together for almost two weeks, and hadn't been alone together since the night he'd snuck outhe pulled his clothes back on and hurried out of the cabin.

Jack was waiting for him on the path.

"Hey," David said quietly.

Jack wrapped an arm around him and kissed him quickly. "I'm glad you came."

"You're all I could think of, all day," David said.

"Same here. David... I'm so glad I know you." Jack reached for David's hand. "Maybe that's corny," he added, pocketing the flashlight.

"No, it's"

"Oh, I'm so not done," Jack interrupted, laughing. "I just... you know what my family is like, a little, and so every summer I come here and it's great... But I was really worried about this whole counselor thing. You know, it being different and all. But you... you made my summer fantastic. You're the best thing about this summer."

"You're right," David said. "Corny." He squeezed Jack's hand. "But really sweet."

"And true."

"I can be corny right back," David said, almost laughing to himself. "I mean, I really, really didn't want to come here at all and I thought I'd hate it and everyone would hate me, but..." He paused and looked up at Jack. "But I met you, and this is the happiest I've ever been."

"Davey..." Jack murmured. "You think we're too sappy?"

"Maybe a little," David said. "But I don't care too much."

"Me, neither."

They wandered in silence for a few minutes, down the hill towards the dining hall. Jack insistently tugged David through the dining hall and on to the back porch, where they stood side by side and watched the moon reflect over the lake. "It's beautiful," David said quietly.

"Glad you like it," Jack mumbled. He sat on the bench at the edge of the porch and David sat next to him, and leaned his head on Jack's shoulder.

"I feel like I should say something," David said eventually.

"'Bout what?" Jack asked.

"I don't know. It's just so quiet."

"And you are the Walking Mouth," Jack added.

David elbowed him gently. "I hate that."

"Really?"

"No," David said. "But I feel like I should. Is that weird?"

"Nah. I mean, hey. People think it's pretty cool the way you stood up to Mrs. Higgins, and that thing with the frogs was pretty awesome."

"Yeah, except that a snake _bit_ me," David groused.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

David held up his hand with the bandaged thumb. "It bled all over the place."

"Aww." Jack took David's hand in his own. "Poor baby." He smiled and kissed David's thumb lightly. David blushed a tiny bit.

They sat together for awhile, enjoying the cool breeze off the lake, watching clouds drift across the sky. "This is nice," Jack mumbled finally.

David nodded.

"But I actually should get to work. I mean, in case someone actually gets sick or something. C'mon." He stood and offered David a hand up, then added quickly, "I just really like the lake and kind of wanted to share it with you because I also kind of really like you."

David kissed him quickly. "Me, too," he said.

Jack reached for his hand again, and they began to silently walk back up the bath towards the cabins. 'This is a lot more fun than the first time you caught me sneaking out," David said eventually.

"No kidding," Jack agreed.

David glanced at his watch and saw it was after twelve. He yawned, but didn't care if he was a bit tired; being with Jack was worth it. Even though they weren't saying much, just getting a chance to hold hands and occasionally kiss without having to worry that someone was watching.

It was another fifteen minutes before Jack got another brilliant idea. "You know, you never did get over your horse thing."

"Oh, no," David said, shaking his head. "Nuh uh, I know what you're thinking."

Jack grinned and kissed him. "Come on, David," he said. "I love them, so horses can't be that bad, right?"

David grumbled. "If it wasn't for the fact that I'd like to think you have very good taste..."

Jack put an arm around his waist. "I have amazing taste," he said. "As you should know."

"Jaaaaaack," David whined, even as he let Jack lead him to the stable. Because, as much ash he didn't ever want to be face to face with a horse again, especially not after the disaster where he'd earned his nickname, Jack did like them, and after all, Jack trying to get him over his fear had been what got him and Jack together.

Jack grinned at him as he flipped the stable light on.

"Is that a good idea?" David asked.

Jack shrugged. "Who's gonna notice? No one is up except the girl's counselor, and she can't see from that half of camp."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Jack nodded, and took David's hand. "Come on."

"I don't think I want to..."

"It would mean a lot to me," Jack said. "Besides, I promised you I'd get you over your irrational fear. And"

"It's not irrational," David half-whined.

"I also told your mom I would." Jack took David's hand and led him into the stable. David dragged his feet but followed, because he liked Jack more than he hated horses.

Jack pulled David over to Vanessa, and scratched behind her ears. "See, she likes it," he told David. "Come on, just pat her nose."

"I liked it better last time, when we were making out," David answered, but let Jack guide his hand up to the horse. With Jack's fingers closed over his own, they scratched her nose together, and patted her cheek. She whickered and David tried to pull away, but Jack kept his arms around his shoulders, and so David fell still. When Jack seemed satisfied he finally pulled away.

"Now that that's done and I didn't have a panic attack, can we make out?" David asked.

Jack tilted his head, as if considering. "Well, you know. I _guess."_ But he laughed and leaned down to kiss David, who was relieved not to have to deal with the horse anymore.

Limbs tangled together so that they almost tripped, Jack led David to a bench at the side of the stable, where they sat and kissed. "Jack," David mumbled, between kisses, "I hate horses."

"Well," Jack answered, "I like you," kiss, "so we can compromise."

"How?"

"I thought making out in the stable would be a good start." Jack just held David close for a moment, feeling the warmth of his body as they pressed together, before turning his head to kiss David again. And he could barely believe how comfortable and happy he felt, with David's arms around him, David's lips on his, the scent of and feel and taste of David all around him.

And it all came crashing down when he heard Oscar Delancey's voice say, "So I guess it's true. Jacky-boy Kelly really _is_ a fag."


	33. Inquisition

Jack and David both froze, and finally Jack turned around. Oscar Delancey was, indeed, standing at the door of the stable, watching them coldly. Jack swallowed hard and carefully disentangled himself from David. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind, and he thought it was probably wiser to say nothing at all.

Finally, Oscar said, "One of my campers was puking and I couldn't find you to walk him to the infirmary. And Triage couldn't get you on the radio. I thought you might be hard to find, but the lights made it pretty easy. You and your boyfriend come here often?"

"Oscar, I don't..." Jack trailed off and reached for his radio. It was on, but the red light was dim and no matter how loud he turned it up, he couldn't get so much as static. The battery was clearly close to dead.

"This what you always do when campers sneak out? Go on, Jacobs. Get back to bed."

David hesitated, and Jack nodded. Neither of them said anything as David stood and hurried out of the stable.

"You always did think you owned this place, Kelly," Oscar said.

"I don't"

"You act like God around here, and a lotta people got pretty sick of it. Lotta people won't miss you."

"We weren't doing anything wrong," Jack mumbled.

"Yeah, let's see. You had a camper who snuck out and you didn't reportlet alone send back. And you two were screwing around pretty heavy"

"We were not, we"

"Yeah, well, that's what it looked like to me. And you can definitely get canned for that."

"We _weren't_ screwing around!" Jack repeated.

Oscar snorted. "You've got this coming, Kelly."

"You don't have any proof," Jack said.

"Yeah, well, Triage knows she couldn't get you on the radio, and I went looking for you. And I don't think Mrs. Higgins is gonna just ignore this. And you know what's great, Kelly? I don't even have to lie. You really brought it on yourself." He smirked. "Well, I'll see you at breakfast. Probably for the last time."

Oscar turned and strode off, and Jack could see him head up the hill, back towards the infirmary and the office, instead of towards his cabin. And there was absolutely nothing Jack could do to about it.

*

David didn't sleep at all. He rolled over again and again, closed his eyes, breathed deeply, but couldn't get his mind to calm. He ran over scenario after scenario in his mind, each one worse than the next, unable to tell what was likely from what was just his over-active imagination. Jack would get fired, sent back to his dad's place, get beaten up, get hospitalized. That was the worst image: Jack in a hospital, when all David would have had to do to prevent it was not sneak out to meet him. But he'd done it, even knowing the potential consequences; he'd done it, and now Jack was going to lose his job, have to deal with his abusive father, and _oh god._

By morning, he was exhausted but hadn't slept at all. Dawn only made him more nervous, knowing that any chance at sleep he had was shot, and not knowing what was going to happen. All he knew was that it would be _bad._

He didn't move when the first bell rang, and his bunkmates began to stir. It took him ten minutes before he grudgingly slid out of bed and began to dress. And before the second bell had finished chiming, Bryan Denton had let himself into the cabin.

Everyone kind of froze and started at him, but David felt his heart sink further.

"David?" he said softly.

"Yeah," David said.

"My office, after breakfast, please."

David nodded, and Denton nodded back, and let himself out.

"What was that about?" Skittery asked, sounding as uninterested as he usually did.

David shook his head. He glanced over at Racetrack, who raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. David didn't say anything else on the way in to breakfast, even when Race kept pace with him and asked what was going on.

He just shook his head, unable to say anything aloud. Even now that it was too late.

"Jack?" Racetrack murmured.

He nodded.

"Big trouble?"

Nod.

"Crap," Racetrack murmured.

Jack wasn't in the dining hall at breakfast; Triage told the campers at his table that he was sick.

David also felt sick, and didn't eat anything. The meal felt like it dragged on for hours, and when it finally ended, David trudged up the hill to the infirmary.

Jack was sitting inside, looking like maybe he was genuinely ill instead of in trouble.

"Hey," he said miserably.

"Hi," David answered. "How're you... doing?"

Jack shrugged. "Been here since one in the morning, since I'm not trustworthy with young, male campers."

"Oh, god, Jack... I, I'm so"

Jack shook his head. "Don't, Dave. Don't say you're sorry."

"But"

"'Cause I'm not." Jack stood up, looked him in the eye. "And you were right. I shouldn't have turned on the light. And I was being irresponsible. So anything that happens is my fault and not yours, so I don't want you to feel guilty or bad or sorry, because I..." He trailed off and smiled sadly.

"David," Denton said, walking in behind him. "Downstairs, please."

David looked helplessly at Jack, who shrugged and waved, not speaking. David followed Denton down the set of stairs, his feet feeling as heavy as lead. He sank down in his usual seat, hardly able to believe he'd been in the office often enough to know where to sit by habit, and Denton sat behind the desk. He sighed heavily.

"Mrs. Higgins will be along in a few minutes," Denton said. "But in the mean time, if you could tell me what happened last night, I'd appreciate it."

David shrugged. "I snuck out," he said.

"And?" Denton prompted.

"And Jack was bringing me back to my cabin, Oscar saw us, and started saying all kinds of stupid stuff. I went back to my cabin and..." He shrugged. "You showed up this morning."

"What did Oscar think he saw?" Denton asked

David took a deep breath. He really didn't know how to handle this or what to say; he knew he _couldn't_ incriminate Jack, but that even after spending the summer acting, he was not a good liar. So he shrugged. "He said something about us... like, screwing around. But that _wasn't_ what happened!"

Which was kind of true. They hadn't been screwing around. Just making out.

"And you deny that anything happened?" Denton asked.

"Nothing happened," David said.

"Were you two in the stables?" Denton asked.

David hesitated. He knew that gave away that something was going on, but he didn't know if maybe _Jack_ had said they were in the stableJack trying to help David with his fear of horses would have been against the rules, but not nearly the infraction that making out with a camper was.

Denton raised an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid of horses," David mumbled.

"So I've heard," Denton answered, smiling bemusedly.

David groaned. "Did _everyone_ hear about that... incident?"

"I would say so, yes."

"Great," David mumbled. "Jack... He's been trying to get me over my, uh, issues. For awhile. I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my friends again, so, uh, yeah. He agreed to help me out at night because no one else would be around."

"So you were in the stable."

"Yeah," David said. "Just to pet the horses. That's all that was going on."

"You said Jack was sending you back to your cabin," Denton reminded him.

"Well, he was going to," David mumbled. "When we were done."

"Of course." Denton nodded. "Which would also explain why he didn't report it, or want to discuss it. Right?"

David nodded quickly.

"And of course that could be misconstrued by another counselor."

David nodded again.

"Makes perfect sense," Denton said. "And I'd very much like to believe that's what happened. I don't, but I would like to." He sighed. "David, I need you to understand the importance of the accusations being leveled at Jack. As a counselor, he's supposed to hold a position of authority, and to be in any way inappropriately involved with a camper is a violation of that authority. By extension, it's a violation of _your_ safety, and of the trust your parents gave us when placing you in our care."

David said nothing.

Denton watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you do understand how important this all is, David. We aren't investigating it to be malicious. Mrs. Higgins and I would like nothing better than for Jack to be cleared of all charges, but given the seriousness of the allegations, we can't afford to take them lightly or..." He trailed off. "I hope you understand that."

David nodded, not sure what to say. He did understand why the clause in all counselor contracts existed; he could see how a counselor-camper relationship could be a legal nightmare. And the fact that they were gay would only make it worse, especially because Jack had kissed him the first time, before anyoneDavid includedknew he was gay. There were all sorts of ways that could be looked at as bad, and very few that were good.

Even if _he_ knew it was good. It was his first relationship, and Jack's, and they really, _really_ liked each other.

Mrs. Higgins broke the silence by entering the room and shutting the door behind her. She took one of the chairs and set it next to Denton's. "I trust you've explained the situation?" she asked.

Denton nodded, so she turned back to David.

"You aren't in any trouble, David," she said. "I want to make that very clear. No matter what happens, _you_ are not to blame for any of this mess, you won't face any punishment, and no one will blame you."

David swallowed, realizing that she was probably rightJack had said as much. That he shouldn't blame himself. But he couldn't help it, because if he hadn't snuck out to see Jack, this mess wouldn't have happened at all. He might not have been to blame, but he knew he was at least partially responsible.

But he nodded, because he knew he needed to react _somehow._

She sighed. "I'd like to start at the beginning, David. I think it's safe to say you and Jack are good friends."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"Do you believe that he's gay?" she asked.

David nodded. "He told me he is."

"Did he tell you anything about his home? His family?"

"Yeah," David said. "About his dad, mostly. And his step-father."

"So you know him fairly well?"

"I guess."

"Do you think you know him well?" she rephrased.

David hesitated, then nodded. "We talked a lot when we were sick," he explained.

"Do you think it's odd for a camper and a counselor to be so close?"

"No!" David said. "No, I mean, we're only a year apart, so there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends."

"It never bothered you that he was an authority figure?"

"Not really."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Believe it or not, I'm really _not_ a troublemaker. Usually. And since he never had to use his authority, it never bothered me."

"So you don't see him as an authority?"

"I think he's someone I would go to if I had a problem," David said, proud of how smooth that sounded. "I mean, if someone got hurt, or, if, like... I was really upset and wanted to talk. He's someone who I'd just go to. I trust him."

She nodded. "So you think Jack is trustworthy?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you think _I_ should find him trustworthy?"

David was on guard immediately. He realized that was a very, very loaded question. "Well, he did know about me sneaking out. I mean, he was with me in the barn, to deal with the horses and all. I'm guessing that's not your idea of a trustworthy counselor."

"Interesting answer," she said. She glanced at Denton.

"David told me Jack was trying to help him with his fear of horses in the barn. That Oscar must have thought he saw something wrong."

"Oh?" she said.

"Or lied," David said.

"You'd accuse a counselor of lying about something _this_ important?" Mrs. Higgins asked.

David hesitated. He hadn't considered what he'd been doing before as really lying. It wasn't telling the truth, but it wasn't too far from the truth, and it was just protecting Jack. But accusing Oscar of lying was really being kind of malicious. It meant actively trying to get someone in trouble; and even though he was sure Oscar deserved it, he had _technically_ only been doing his job, and he was, in fact, correct.

"I don't know," he said finally, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "I know that Jack and I were just sitting, talking about horses, and then Oscar came in and said he had a camper who was sick and he couldn't find Jack. Jack's radio had died. And, um, obviously that was when I went back to bed."

"You two were talking," Mrs. Higgins repeated, nodded. "About what?"

"About the horses. I... I really, really hate horses. Only bad things have happened to me around horses." He didn't actually cross his fingers when he said that, though he wanted to; it was mostly true, but first getting together with Jack had been a good thing, and a very big good thing at that. David shrugged a little. "So when we got to the barn I was freaking out, and so we sat down and were talking."

"What did he say?"

"Uh..." David groped for words. "I don't really... I mean, it was about horses. He could have been speaking Greek for all I knew. Mostly, though, it was about how I shouldn't be afraid. He'd help me. So it would've been okay if... If we weren't interrupted."

Mrs. Higgins sighed. "And did you or Jack say anything, or do anything, that might have looked suspicious to Oscar?"

"I don't know," he answered aloud, thinking, _Yeah, we were making out._

"I can tell you don't want to talk about this, David," she said. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm worried about Jack," David mumbled. "I mean, Mr. Denton told me how serious this is."

"Of course." Mrs. Higgins nodded. "One more question, David, if you don't mind. I realize it's rather personalvery personal. But, _are_ you gay?"

He stared at her, and almost choked. The only people who knew he was gay were Jack and Racetrack; not even his parents, or his sister, or his closest friends from home knew. And he was hardly used to it, and had barely come to terms with it at all.

"Does it matter if I am?" he asked finally.

"Not in the least," she answered. "Not with regards to thisit just seems to me that if you are, if there's anyone who knows, rumors... accusations... Well, if people suspected it, it might lead to rumors and confusion, and of course, we want to know if there is some sort of rumor which might have led to a mistaken assumption on Oscar's part."

That made sense, David thought, though it had been a bit wordy and awkward. He realized that if he was gayand she definitely knew Jack wasit might look bad for Jack. But on the other hand, if he was gay, and she wanted to take that as the reason for the accusation, it couldn't hurt any.

And besides, it was the truth.

"Yeah," David said. "I am, but I, I mean, I haven't told... Uh, almost anyone. Like my parents."

"They don't know?"

He shook his head no.

"Does Jack know?" Mrs. Higgins asked.

David took a deep breath, and nodded. "I was really, really confused about some... stuff," he said. "And like I said, I trust Jack, and he'd kind of been through it, so..."

"I see. Well, I'm very glad you found someone you can confide in, David," Mrs. Higgins said.

Denton cleared his throat. "You didn't sound particularly surprised to hear about the accusation," he pointed out.

"Oscar was talking about it last night, as I left," David said. "I was worried all night. I didn't sleep well, I don't feel too good... I'm worried." He hoped it sounded duly pathetic and depressed and genuine.

Mrs. Higgins cleared her throat. "Well, perhaps it's odd to say, but that works out very well for us. Why don't you go rest upstairs for awhile? We'd rather... we'd rather that no word about this gets out, as, even if it proves falseas we hope it willit would be damaging to the reputations of several people, yourself and Jack in particular. And I'm sure you'd prefer not to be the subject of that much gossip."

David nodded.

She stood up. "You're welcome to rest upstairs for as long as you'd like. We'll talk again later."

David stood up too, and as he started for the staircase, he mumbled, "Jack didn't do anything wrong."

"I hope that's true, David," Mrs. Higgins said. "For Jack's sake."

*

Jack heard the footsteps come upstairs and inhaled deeply. David appeared, looking slightly frazzled, and shrugged heavily. Jack nodded a little, and Mrs. Higgins appeared in the hallway behind David.

"Right over there," Mrs. Higgins said, pointing to one of the small rooms where David could sleep. "Jack? Downstairs, please."

He nodded. "Yeah..." He glanced at David again. "You okay, Dave?"

"Yeah," David said. "Just... tired. Gonna sleep awhile."

Jack nodded. "Well, uh, goodnight, then. I'll, uh, see you in awhile."

David nodded and disappeared into the side room, and Jack followed Mrs. Higgins back down the stairs. She gestured at a chair, which was warm when he sat down; he could only assume it was where David had been sitting. She settled next to Denton across from him.

"Jack..." Mrs. Higgins sighed. "I believe you were told about the accusations leveled at you."

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Are they true?" she asked.

He shook his head, his heart sinking. He hated lying to Mrs. Higgins, hated it. Even when he'd be a trouble-making camper, she'd been able to keep him from wreaking total havoc; not by getting angry or yelling, but simply by shaking her head and saying she was disappointed. That had always been enough to stop him and make him feel rotten. He knew how much Mrs. Higgins had done for him; the thought of disappointing her was like a knife in his gut, twisting and destroying vital organs.

And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that she had every reason to be disappointed. She'd given him a job, and he'd broken his contract; he'd opened up the potential for a lawsuit, he'd almost certainly get fired, and it was his own fault. Even though he knew what he and David had together wasn't wrong, it was illegal at camp. And she'd never trust him again, if she found out.

But he didn't want to lie. Not to her, who had been like a part-time mother to him (and, in a lot of ways, better than his own mother); and not about David, who he cared about more than anything else he could think of. His heart sank a little more.

"We're just going to ask you some questions, Jack," Denton said. "No one is accusing you of anything, we just want to make sure we've got our facts straight. Does Oscar Delancey know you're gay?"

"Yeah," Jack mumbled.

"Did he before last night?"

"Yeah."

"How?" Denton looked up, surprised.

"His uncle knows my step-dad, and stuff gets around. That's how they, uh, heard about camp."

Mrs. Higgins nodded, probably remembering that they were from the same town.

"So then, it is possible that this accusation was only made because he was armed with that knowledge," Denton said, glancing at Mrs. Higgins. "It's been made very clear through the last few years that neither Delancey brother is exactly your biggest fan, Jack."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said.

"But I still have trouble imagining someone making an allegation this serious with no real, concrete reason."

"So what, precisely, was going on when Oscar found you and David?" Mrs. Higgins asked.

Jack hesitated. "I..." He decided to go with as much truth as possible. "Dave and I were sitting on the stable bench."

She nodded. "What were you discussing?"

"Discussing?" he repeated. "Uh... I don't really... want to talk about it."

He didn't expected that to be good enough, since this _was_ kind of an interrogation. But she glanced at Denton, and nodded. "I just want to make it clear, Jack, that David won't be held responsible; not even for sneaking out. This is too important. All we want is honesty."

"I, I _can't,"_ Jack said, and added, half to himself, "David trusts me."

Another sideways look at Denton, and another nod. "David has already told us about his fear of horses; you don't need to worry about embarrassing him."

Jack blinked once, hoping his surprised wasn't evident on his face. That made a lot of sense, he realized. They'd been in the stable, and he _had_ kind of been trying to get David to deal with his horse problems, and everyone knew David was terrified of horses. So it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they'd been discussing horses, even so late at night; surely David would have realized that...

Jack shrugged. "Then you already know."

"Did you think it was inappropriate, for the two of you to be out so late together?" Denton asked.

"Well, um..." Jack shrunk down in his seat. "I mean, I know it's against the rules. And I should have told him no and sent him back to bed and all. But... I mean, he's _terrified_ and when I talked to his folks on parent's day, they said specifically they really were hoping he'd get over his issues. And he _was_ embarrassed and he didn't want to do it with anyone around, so I kinda... I mean, I didn't figure it would be _such_ a big deal if he was out after curfew for a little while, and I'd be with him so I'd know he wasn't in trouble or anything." He hung his head. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Jack," Mrs. Higgins said, almost sharply, and he looked up. "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do it."

Jack swallowed and nodded. He was sure it couldn't be this easy, and he hated lying. But he looked her in the eye and said, "I didn't."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. But Denton spoke up. "Jack, out of curiositywell, you and David _have_ been very close, closer than you are with many of your friends from previous years. Do you... I realize it's a very personal question, but do you have feelings for David?"

Jack took a deep breath. This was one thing he couldn't deny, and refused to lie about. "Yeah," he said simply. "But..."

Denton nodded. "We certainly won't judge you for that; we have faith in you to control yourself, regardless."

"Uh, thanks."

"Do you know if David is gay?" Mrs. Higgins asked.

Jack froze for a moment, then shrugged. "No idea."

"Really? He's never mentioned anything which might make you think he was gayor straight?"

Jack shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "I mean, I usually figure guys are straight unless they tell me otherwise."

She looked over at Denton, who frowned.

"I think that will be all for now, Jack," Mrs. Higgins said finally. "We might have more questions for you later."

Jack nodded and stood up. He'd felt awful all day, but something about her tone of voice, and the looks she and Denton gave each other, made him think it had all just gotten a lot worse.

*

Oscar Delancey smirked. "Look, I saw what I saw," he said. "I didn't know nothing about Jacobs being gay. Yeah, I knew about Jack, so what?"

"We just thought that, perhaps, you might have been mistaken," Mrs. Higgins said. "Knowing, as you do about Jack and all; maybe it was dark and unclear." She stared at him seriously, and he shrugged.

"Look, Mrs. Higgins," he said. "I saw what I saw. They were sitting on the bench in the stables, and Jack had his tongue down the kid's throat. I didn't make a mistake, it was really, _really_ obvious."

"You're sure about that?" Denton asked.

"Yeah," Oscar answered. _"Positive."_

Mrs. Higgins let out a long, deep breath, and nodded. "Thank you very much, Oscar. This is, essentially, your word against Jack's, but we will strongly consider everything you've told us. And of course, it goes without saying that you shouldn't mention this to anyone, not even your brother."

"Of course," Oscar answered.

But it was a little too late for that, and by lunchtime, all sorts of rumors had spread through the camp.


	34. Trust

Sneakers grabbed Race's shoulder and pulled him aside, as they walked up towards the cabin after lunch. "So, what's going on with Jack and David?" he asked.

"How would I know?" Race answered.

"You know everything that goes on," Sneakers reminded him. Racetrack shrugged, because that was basically true. "And there's a lot of talking going on in the counselor cabin, and none of it is good. So what's up?"

"Why, what have you heard?" Racetrack asked.

Sneakers glanced around to make sure no one else was listening; he was pretty sure the rest of the bunk could hear, but on the other hand, he was also pretty sure they'd heard about this already. It seemed like everyone had.

He leaned down and half-whispered to Race, "They were having sex in the stables."

Racetrack stopped walking and stared at him.

"What?" Sneakers demanded.

"That is the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard," Racetrack answered, rolling his eyes.

"Then what happened? Jack definitely had patrol last night, and you saw Denton come ask for David to"

"Sneakers, can you honestly imagine David having sex with _anyone_?" Racetrack asked.

"Well... no, but"

"Then there you go." Racetrack started walking again.

"Then what happened?"

"How should I know?"

"Race, come on."

Racetrack sighed. "I don't know what happened," he said, which was sort of true; he knew _something_ had happened, if not what (though he was pretty sure he could safely assure Sneakers that no one had been having sex). "And even if I did, I'm pretty sure no one involved would want me to talk about it."

"So you _do_ know."

"I didn't say that."

Sneakers shrugged. "Well, yeah, but you were lying when you said you didn't know, and we both know that. Anyway, I think you should tell me what's going on so I can get people to stop gossiping. I mean, the truth has got to be better than the borderline porn people are discussing."

Race rolled his eyes. "I'll look into it. No promises."

"Of course."

Racetrack stepped away from Sneakers so he could continue on the path, up to the infirmary. David hadn't been at lunch, and neither had Jack; presumably, they were both up in the infirmary or in the office. Which certainly didn't do anything to dispel the rumors.

Triage was giving out meds in the infirmary. She raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you, Racetrack?"

"Actually, I thought maybe I could help you." He shot her his best smile, the one that often kept him out of trouble with his mother. "I heard David was really sick, I thought maybe he'd need me to go pick up some clothes for him for the next few days."

"Oh." She frowned. "Well, uh, that won't be necessary."

"Really? Then what's going on? Is David okay?"

She sighed. Sometimes, Racetrack was impressed by just how good he was at reading people's emotions. Well, that and exploiting them; but that didn't sound nearly so noble.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, honey. Why don't you get on back to your cabin?"

"Okay," he said. "Tell David I say"

"Anthony. Dear. Just who I wanted to see."

He swiveled to see his mother standing at the top of the staircase down to the office.

"That never bodes well for me," Racetrack answered.

"Not generally, no. Downstairs, Anthony Emilio Higgins."

"Full name? What did I _do_?" he demanded, shooting a desperate look at Triage, then following his mother downstairs. In the office, he took the chair in front of the desk, since his mother sat next to Denton behind it.

"Tony," Denton said, nodding a little.

"Hi, Mr. Denton. Um, did I do something? Because I'm pretty sure for a change I haven't."

"A change, indeed," Denton mumbled, then coughed guiltily. "No, Tony, you aren't in trouble, so far as we know."

"Though that could change, so think carefully before you speak," his mother added.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well. Okay. Should I call my lawyer?"

"Might not be a bad idea," Denton mused. He glanced at Mrs. Higgins. "Actually, we will need to call him, unfortunately."

"You don't know that for sure," Mrs. Higgins answered defensively.

"Maria..." He sighed. "Well, talk to the boy; you said he'd have answers."

"Answers?" Racetrack repeated. "Lawyers? Mom, what's going on?"

"You tell me," she answered. "It seems like you always know what's going on."

"You know, people keep telling me that. Maybe if you told me what you think I'm supposed to know, I could let you know what's going on."

She sighed. "What do you know about Jack and David?'

"Well, I've known Jack since I was about six, so I know a fair amount about him. David, on the other hand"

"Don't be smart, Anthony," she snapped.

"I can't help it, that's the way you raised me." He grinned.

She didn't look amused.

He swallowed. Okay, enough joking. "I know they were good friends," he said. "And David was doing some pretty heavy questioning about, you know, things. I'm pretty sure Jack has a crush on him." He shrugged. "And I know that David snuck out last night. I don't know what happened, but according to Sneakers, the gossip among counselors is that they were having sex. Which I highly, highly doubt."

"Sex?" Denton repeated, and glanced at Mrs. Higgins. "Oh, dear."

"No one was having sex," she said firmly.

"Like I said. I didn't think so." Racetrack frowned. "So what's with the rumors? What happened?"

"We were hoping you'd know," Mrs. Higgins said. "Please, Tony, this is very important. You know how much I care about Jack, and I know you'd do anything to protect him. But you have to understand." She took a deep breath. "If there is anything inappropriate between Jack and David, we need to know, and we need to act. For our own protection, Tony. It would just be too dangerous to look the other way; you _know_ I'd rather pretend this wasn't... wasn't a problem.

"But this... If David's parentsor anyone else'sfind out even about the suspicions, let alone if they turn out to be true, it's... We could be slapped with a lawsuit. A bad one."

"How bad?" Racetrack asked.

Denton took a deep breath. "Hard to say. Like I said, we'll need to consult a lawyer to see how best to protect ourselves. But my guess would be... with the implications of a counselor taking advantage of a camper, and, as much as I hate to say this, the fact that he's gay makes it worse... We could be talking about a lot of money. Probably enough to shut down the camp."

"What?" Racetrack asked. "You're not... you can't be serious. I mean, that's _insane_."

Mrs. Higgins sighed. "Well, financially, we aren't the strongest we've ever been at the moment," she said quietly. "We aren't in debt, certainly; but let's just say the cost of putting the eight of you through college..."

"If we were sued, would we be able to pay?"

"That would depend on the lawsuit, the settlement, the legal fees...." Denton looked over at Mrs. Higgins.

"In the worst case scenariowhich, unfortunately, is not unrealisticwe would sell the camp. This land is very valuable; it's undeveloped lakeside property. I've gotten many offers from developers through the years; it would be easy to build a small resort, or several summer homes, on the land we own. Presumably, it would be enough to cover any debts."

"But we'd lose the camp?" Racetrack asked. "I mean... Whoever you sold it to, they wouldn't keep it open?"

She shook her head no.

"But..." He groaned. "Oh, man. This sucks."

She nodded. "So we are taking this investigation very seriously. You know I adore Jack, and David... Though I'll deny it if asked, I'm fond of him as well. They're both good kids, and Jack in particular deserves some happiness. But..." She trailed off. "Anything you can tell us will be helpful, and important, Tony. I trust you."

He took a deep breath. Trust was such a tricky thing, and at that moment he'd have given anything to have never gained anyone's trust at all. To not have Jack's, and not know that Jack was gay, and that he'd kissed David; to not have David's, so he wouldn't know that David had fallen for Jack, and asked him out; to not have his mother's, and to not have their whole future on the line, so he could lie to protect his friends.

But he couldn't. He couldn't lie, not when there was so much at stake.

But he couldn't tell, either. He couldn't betray Jack and David's trust like that, not when he knew that, contract aside, nothing inappropriate had happened.

"So, uh," he finally said. "If something had happened... I mean, what would we do? To protect ourselves?"

"I would have to fire Jack," she said simply. "And alert the Jacobs family, offer them a refund for the summerlet them know that the problem is not one that will be repeated, that it had been dealt with."

"That's all? There wouldn't be any... any other solution?"

"I'm afraid not, Tony," Denton said.

Racetrack took a deep breath. "I don't know. I wish... This whole thing sucks. I don't know what happened last night, I really don't. Can I, um, have some time to think?"

She nodded. "Just let me know if anything occurs to you."

"Can I talk to Jack and David?" he asked.

She shook her head no.

"Okay," he said, and stood up. "Um, I'll... I mean, if I think of anything or hear anything..."

"Thank you, Tony. I'm sorry to get you involved in this at all. I truly am."

"Yeah." He nodded. "Okay, I'll just be in my cabin."

But back at the cabin, when he walked in, everyone went silent and stared.

"Well?" Sneakers asked. "Did you do your voodoo magic and find out what's going on?"

He shook his head. "You know, it's really... Nothing," he said. "Seriously."

No one said anything, but it wasn't the most convincing lie he had ever told.

*

Mush was frustrated.

Actually, that was an understatement. Mush was pretty sure that he was going to kill someone. The previous summer had been pretty bad, too, but it seemed like in the past year, the girls had actually gone insane.

He trudged to the theater after lunch, to begin rehearsals for the week's show, and he hoped that David and Jack's mysterious disappearance (and possible drug habitshe wasn't sure he believed that, but he'd heard they'd been caught smoking up in the stables) would be interesting enough that people would talk about that and leave him alone.

But no.

Or rather, not quite; Jack and David were the subject of a fair amount of gossip, and Mush, as David's bunkmate, was assumed to know what had happened. So instead of listening to people gossip and trying to sneak off by himself, he had Trixie grab on to his left arm and Mondie grab on to his right arm, and they were talking across him. He wasn't sure which was worse; when they got along and gossiped while trying to grope him, or when they where shrieking and screaming while trying to grope him.

Either way, he really didn't want to be groped.

"Mush?" Trixie asked. "What do you think?"

"What?" Mush asked tiredly, a firm tug on his arm bringing him back to reality.

"About _Jack_," Mondie explained, tugging on his other arm, not to be outdone. "I've always kind of thought he was gay."

"I don't think Jack is gay, and please stop pulling on my arms," he grumbled.

Mondie giggled like it was the cleverest thing anyone had ever said.

"Yeah, _Mondie_, stop it!" Trixie snapped, sticking out her tongue.

"You stop, too," Mush snapped back, yanking both of his arms free. "In fact, stop _touching_ me. At all. Ever. Okay? Great. Thanks." He stood up and stalked off.

He was pretty sure that if they didn't leave him alone soon, he was going to do more than snap at them; he was going to snap. Period.

*

By that evening, it nothing had been decided. Hesitantly, David was allowed out to rejoin activities, after swearing he wouldn't say anything to anyone. Not that he would have anywaynot with Jack's reputation, and job, on the line. Though it wasn't easy, when everyone kept staring at him and murmuring things as soon as he'd walked by.

He ignored it, though, and figured out he was better off than Jack. Jack was, for all intents and purposes, being quarantined; no one was allowed to go in to talk to him (except for Denton and Mrs. Higgins, and Triage with his dinner), until the situation was worked out. It wasn't even that they thought someone might start passing messages, allowing Jack and David to work out a consistent story togetherthey already knew the stories were off, and someone was lying. The administrators just didn't know what to do.

After dinner, Mrs. Higgins, against Denton's warnings, stepped into the infirmary where Jack was staying to talk to him again. Jack, who had been lying on the bed, sat up when she walked in.

"'Evening," he mumbled.

"I imagine this has been a bad day for you," she said.

He shrugged. "Could be worse." He hesitated, then, "If you're gonna make it worse, just tell me; I can handle it."

"No," she said. "Not yet. I..." She sighed. "There's a lot at stake, here. I know you understand that. So, Jack, I need to know something. Tell me honestly. Why did you lie to me about not knowing David is gay?"

He swallowed hard. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"David told us himself that he is, and that you know. Please, explain to me why you were lying."

Jack stared at his hands, and took awhile to speak. She waited patiently, her presence almost gentle. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"It's hard, you know," he said. "That's why I didn't want to be out at camp. It's harder when you're not like Rob and Rich, when you don't... you don't have someone to make it worth while to tell the world. I didn't know Davey told you. I figured it was his business, if he didn't want to... It wasn't my place." He looked up. "His parents don't know, no one knows but me and Race. Honest truth."

"Do you know if he was gay before this summer?"

"I figure he was born that way. I know I was." Jack shrugged. "But nah, he hadn't... I mean, as far as I know, I was the first person to know. I think he's only been realizing it since he's been here."

"Hmm." Mrs. Higgins nodded. "Do you think David might have feelings for you?"

Jack froze, momentarily looking like a deer caught in headlights. Finally, he shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. I kinda hoped so, but... I mean, you probably figured."

She nodded. She _had_ figured.

"But we didn't..." Jack trailed off.

She nodded. "Jack... I just don't know what to think. I don't know who to believe. But I know you, and I know you are more responsible than this; and you're certainly too responsible to lie when it isn't just a matter of your job on the line, but the possibility of the camp getting shut down, should things go bad. So answer me again: did anything inappropriate happen between you and David?"

Jack took a deep breath.

Kissing, he thought vaguely, wasn't inappropriate for boyfriends. And the thought of spending an extra two weeks in with his dad in New York... David would never tell anyone, and so there could be no lawsuit. It would be _fine_.

"No, Mrs. Higgins," he said. "Nothing inappropriate. Just talking."

She nodded. "Good. Do you mind too much sleeping up here tonight? I have to talk to Bryan."

"Whatever's easiest for you," he said.

She nodded. "And Jack," she mused, "you know, in two weeks, David won't be a camper anymore." She waved a little bit and let herself out.

*

Racetrack realized quickly that catching Jack and David together the next day was going to be nearly impossible. Which was, really, probably for the best (though the longing, desperate looks they kept giving each other didn't help). The next morning, Jack reappeared at breakfast, recovered from the 'stomachache' that had kept him in the infirmary the whole previous day.

But still, Race needed to talk to both of them, preferably together. Jack, as he often did, wandered towards the counselor downtime cabin to smoke. Which made it relatively easyhe just grabbed David's arm and dragged.

"But," David protested, freeing his arm as he saw where they were heading, "that's the counselor cabin, and we aren't counselors. And also, me, Jack, you know... avoiding being alone together?"

"It's just for a few minutes." Race pushed David into the cabin, and Jack paused, mid-light. He coughed guiltily, dropped the lighter back into his pocket, and half-heartedly set the cigarette down.

"Uh, hey," he said.

"Hi," David said. "Race?"

"Yeah, yeah." Race took a deep breath. "I need you to both swear you won't do so much as hold hands for the rest of the summer, and David, I need you to promise, cross your heart, that you won't tell your parents about..." He waved his hand in Jack's general direction. "This."

"Uh..." David shrugged. "I kind of do have to eventually tell them," he said. "I mean, when I invite over Jack after camp and we, you know, are dating, they probably will get the hint."

"No," Race said. "Fine, tell them eventually, but since you two are so fond of hiding, just do it for awhile longer. So there's no way they'll figure out about you two getting together at camp. Swear it."

"Race, what's going on?" Jack asked.

"What's going on is my mother trusting me not to let you two get us sued," he said. "She really, really wants to believe you're innocent, Jack, but Denton doesn't; and if we get sued, we could have to sell the camp, and it would get shut down, and my family would have to move, and..." He took a deep breath. "We can't afford to get sued. For a lot of reasons."

"My parents wouldn't sue," David said. "No matter what, okay? They'd be happy for me."

"And do you think the camp could take the bad publicity if it got out that a counselor-camper relationship had been swept under the carpet? If anyone else finds out, we might not get sued, but it would still be bad. Like, really bad." Race looked at them seriously. "I'm sorry. You know I'm really, really happy for you two, I am. But..."

"Don't worry, Race," Jack said. "David and I kind of already figured that we couldn't... You know, be together for the rest of the summer."

"Yeah," David said. "I mean, it sucks. But we don't want to cause trouble. Race, I swear, my parents won't sue. And... I mean, Jack's going to come visit me after camp ends either way, but I guess... We just won't tell my parents we're together, and next time he visits, uh, we'll say we got together _last_ time, after camp ended. Okay?" He looked over at Jack and Race.

Jack nodded. And finally, Race nodded. "Just don't be stupid, okay?"

"We won't," Jack promised. "I mean, I'm dumb, but Davey's real smart." He grinned over at David, who blushed a little and stared down at the floor.

"Oh, yeah, and stop looking at him like that, it makes things really obvious now that Mom knows what to look for."

"I'll try," Jack promised. "But really, you should be telling David not to be so cute all the time."

"Shut up," David said, the blush deepening.

"See? How am I not supposed to grin like an idiot at him when he's blushing like that?"

"Jack, shut up," David mumbled again.

"See, this is what I mean. Stop it!" Racetrack rolled his eyes, but also cracked a hint of a smile. "Okay, so just don't be stupid, and you're not being fired, and so it all works out. Great. We'd better go before, you know..."

"Yeah." Jack looked over at David and grinned one more time. "Have a good day."

"You, too."

"You should come to riding."

"Not going to happen." But David smiled back at him, until Racetrack grabbed his arm again and pulled him out of the cabin.

*

After lunch, Sneakers shot an apprehensive glance around at the crowd emptying out of the dining hall, and managed to pick out Dutchy, in his red floral Hawaiian shirt. Dutchy was heading off towards the counselor cabin; not too surprising, considering it was pretty well known that Dutchy, well... he didn't exactly _dislike_ campers, but they did make him stressed out, and he preferred to spend as much time away from them as possible.

Though Sneakers was slightly surprised that Specs wasn't following him. The counselor cabin was along the path to the boat beach, and some of the things he'd heard about Dutchy, Specs, and the boat shed...

"Hey, Dutch," he said, catching up. "What's up?"

Dutchy shrugged amiably. "Chilling."

"You're off on Tuesday, right?"

"Yep."

"Can you do me a favor?"

Dutchy shrugged noncommittally.

"Uh, I need to change days off with someone. Tuesday would work for me. Could you... maybe...?"

Dutchy raised an eyebrow. "Nope."

"Oh."

"Nothing personal, though; Rich has the day off with me, we don't get much time alone. You know how that is." He cocked his head a little, considering. "Surprised you want to change, don't you and Paint have the day off together?"

"Uh, yeah. That's kind of why I need to change."

"Got in a fight?"

"No! No, nothing like that. I just need..." He trailed off. "It's kind of a secret."

"Oooookay."

"But if you can't help me, I understand."

Dutchy shrugged. "Sorry. You could ask Alec, maybe."

"Alec?"

"Bumlets. He doesn't have anyone he's terribly worried about seeing on his day off. Unlike us."

"Yeaaaah. Though... I gotta say, from what I hear, you don't wait for days off. That's what the boatshed is for, huh?"

"That and the arts'n'crafts cabin, I've heard." Dutchy smirked.

Sneakers almost choked. "Yeah, well, uh, thanks anyway, Dutch."

"No problem." Dutchy turned into the counselor cabin, and Sneakers back the way he'd come, now needing to track down Bumlets instead.

*

By the hour before dinner, things seemed almost normal. There was still a fair amount of gossip, and people giving Jack and David sideways looks; but on the other hand, Jack and David were going out of their way not to look at each other. Which, considering how close they were supposed to be as friends, seemed odd; but Mrs. Higgins didn't question it.

Of course, there were still questions to answer. And some of them she didn't want to think too closely about.

"Maria, I would just like to state again, I think this is a bad idea," Denton said, glancing over at Mr. Higgins, hoping again for some support.

"It isn't your home and your career on the line," she reminded him.

"It is part of my career; and that's not the point. You pay me to help look out for you, and I have your interests in mind. You know that."

"We both do," Mr. Higgins said. "But it's not a simple issue."

"I know you both care about Jack, but"

"Jack and David's stories were very clear on what had happened. I see no reason to doubt them."

"Except they didn't _match_," Denton reminded her.

"A fact which Jack has explained to our satisfaction. I trust him."

Mr. Higgins nodded his agreement. "This is a sticky situation, and we _did_ write down your objections when we documented this whole mess. Should something happen, you will be absolved of all responsibility."

"That's not the point," Denton said. "But it's your camp, and your decision. I just wanted to let you know that I think you're handling it wrong."

"And we appreciate that."

There was a knock on the office door, and Denton called that it was open. Oscar Delancey, looking somewhat annoyed, let himself in. "Have a seat," Denton sighed.

Oscar sat. "So what's going on?" he asked. "Is this about the... the Jack thing?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Denton said.

"Oscar, as we mentioned before, this is, for all intents and purposes, a case of your word against Jack's and David's. And Jack..."

"Don't tell me he wriggled his way out of this," Oscar muttered.

"It's not a case of wriggling, it's a case of trust, and a case of track records. Jack and David both deny your accusations."

"Of course they do."

"And that's as may be, but it was _your_ track record that concerned us. You've demonstrated a dislike of Jack that's bored on malicious for _several_ years now; behavior which was unacceptable for a counselor towards a camper, and which is no more acceptable now that Jack is also a counselor. I have looked the other way for both you and your brother several times, not wanting to believe your behavior was intentionally singling him out, but I can't look the other way for something this major."

"What do you mean?" Oscar asked.

Mr. Higgins took over. "What I'm saying is that you were very clear that you weren't _mistaken_ in what you saw; and since we do not believe Jack and David were kissing, or anything of the sort, we have no choice but to believe that... well, you were lying."

"_What_?!" Oscar sputtered.

"And considering your record of past behavior, particularly where Jack is concerned, we have no choice but to let you go."

"You what?"

"Your behavior has proven you to be unreliable as a counselor; we have no choice but to let you go," Mrs. Higgins repeated.

"Wait, wait," Oscar said. "Jack Kelly gets to grope a camper, and you're firing _me_ for _telling_ you? I can not believethat is bullshit!"

"Oscar, we don't want this to be difficult, we"

"Oh, it's going to be difficult," Oscar snapped, standing up. "I was telling the truth, and if you don't want to believe me, fine. Maybe Jacobs's parents will. Maybe my lawyer will. But this _ain't_ gonna be _easy_."

Mr. Higgins stood and stepped forward. "I'll accompany you back to your cabin so you can begin to pack. We'll book you a flight back to New Mexico."

"Fine. Do that." Oscar glowered. "You'll regret it, though."

He stormed out of the office, and Mr. Higgins followed him closely. Denton turned to Mrs. Higgins.

"Not that I like to say 'I told you so,' but, well..."

"It'll be fine," she said. "What can he do?"

"Everything he just said. Call David's family and tell them his side of the story; sue us for wrongfully firing him."

"We didn't wrongfully fire him."

"All we have is Jack's word on that." Denton sighed. "Shall I go call _our_ lawyer now? Just to be careful, of course."

Mrs. Higgins took a deep breath, and finally she nodded.


	35. Saying Goodbye

Jack had stepped out of his cabin to walk to the communal bathroom when he saw Mr. Higgins and Oscar Delancey, walking towards one of the cabins. He froze and stared, praying that it wasn't that Oscar hadn't found a way to convince Mr. and Mrs. Higgins that he was telling the truth. But they kept walking down the path, past Jack's cabin, and he let out a deep breath. Something might be going on, but at least at the moment, it didn't concern him.

After his campers were in bed, Jack debated heading down to the dining hall to get a cup of coffee, but figured that David would be there, and he wouldn't be able to totally control himself and not look adoringly at David.

But still, it seemed too early for bed; Jack was wide awake, and still feeling almost giddy with relief that he wasn't going to be fired. So instead of heading to bed with the campers, he wandered down towards the counselor downtime cabin.

The cabin was mostly empty; Artemis and Reesie were there chatting, and they looked up and waved at Jack before going back to their conversation. Jack shrugged and looked for a magazine he hadn't read yet; the administration was kind enough to keep the counselor cabin stocked with them.

There wasn't anything particularly interesting in that week's _Time_, but it was better than nothing. Jack was still reading it almost twenty minutes later when the door was shoved open, banging hard against the wall behind it and shuddering in place.

Everyone in the cabin stared up at the doorway, and saw Morris Delancey standing framed by it, glaring dangerously.

Jack didn't know what was going on, but got the feeling that something big had happened when he'd seen Oscar and Mr. Higgins.

"What's..." Jack started.

"Like you don't know, you queer little worm!"

Jack glanced over at the two girls, who looked just as startled and clueless as he felt. "You wanna tell me what's going on, or just yell some more?"

"My brother," Morris snarled. "He got _fired_."

Jack blinked. "I didn't have anything to do with that. If that's what you're implying."

"The hell you didn't!"

"I didn't!" Jack yelled back. "_He_ accused _me_ ofif he was fired it was his own fault."

Morris snorted. "He accused you of kissing a camper, 'cause he saw you do it," he said. "And you know you did it."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Jack muttered.

"Yeah, well, whatever you did, he just got fired 'cause you lied about it. But don't think you're getting away with this. We're not gonna let you get away with this!"

"I'm not getting away with anything," Jack said. "I didn't"

"The hell you didn't," Morris said. "And you're gonna _pay_."

"I told you, I didn't do anything wrong," Jack snapped, standing up. "And I didn't have anything to do with your brother getting firedthis is the first I've even heard about it!"

"Well, it won't be the last," Morris muttered. "You might think we're stupid, Kelly, but we ain't. I already called my Uncle Wease, and he's callin' a lawyer. And we're gonna sue youand this campjust you _wait_. Everyone's gonna hear the truth. Even your boyfriend's _parents_. And I can't _wait_ to hear what they have to say about it."

Jack felt his face go pale. He didn't know if the Delanceys could really sue the camp like Morris was threatening, but he did know that if David's parents found out, and if they believed it, _they_ could sue. David said they wouldn't, but...

"Yeah, that's right," Morris snapped. "So we'll see you in court." He turned and stomped back out.

Jack froze, and looked at the two women in the cabin. "I have no idea what he's talking about," he said weakly, and hurried out of the cabin.

Racetrack had made him swear not to get in trouble again. Because trouble for him was trouble for them allthey might sell the camp, and Race would lose his home; David's family could sue _him_, probably, which he definitely couldn't afford; and David's parents might... Well, David said he was sure they wouldn't care if he was gay, but in Jack's experience, that rarely happened. People would care. And if they reacted badly, if they turned against David...

He didn't want David to go through that. Not like he had. It just wasn't fair.

He had to do _something_ to protect them all. Even if he couldn't stop Oscar from suing for wrongful firing, he thought about the more complicated issues. The potential lawsuit against the camp because of his relationship with David, and the bad publicity they'd get from it, even if the camp came through in tact.

That would be all his fault.

Then that was what he'd have to prevent.

He started towards the dining hall and grabbed Racetrack and David out of the group, pulled them on to the porch. "This isn't exactly non-suspicious," Racetrack reminded him.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Jack said quietly. He filled them in on what Morris had said.

David's eyes went wide. "What are we going to do?" he asked.

"You aren't going to do anything," Jack said.

"But"

"I'm going to go...." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to go tell the truth about what happened. Everything that happened."

"But"

"I have to," Jack said.

Race said nothing, just watched. David was staring at Jack, his eyes wide and unhappy. "You'll get fired," David said.

Jack nodded. "I know. So they can protect themselves and the camp. It's..." He glanced towards the dining hall and knew they could be seen through the window, but he didn't care. Everyone was going to find out anyway. He reached forward and took David's hand. "It's for the best, anyway. I want to tell the world about us, because I... I care about you, and you're the best thing that's happened to me in so long. And I'm not embarrassed or ashamed about that. I'd be happy to tell everyone about it."

"But you'll get fired," David said again. "It's not a matter of being proud, Jack. _I'm_ proud of us." He squeezed Jack's hand. "But I'd rather be together than anything else."

Jack couldn't help himself, he smiled. Racetrack rolled his eyes and wanted to kick them both for getting themselves into this to begin with... But at least Jack had worked out for himself what to do, which was a relief. Racetrack had quietly come to the same conclusion, but still hated the thought of asking his best friend to get himself in trouble.

"I want to be with you, too," Jack said. "But this is more important than just you and me. So we get to go public with this amazing relationship, and the camp gets to stay in tact... Everyone gets something."

"It's not much of a consolation prize," David said. "Telling everyone, and not getting to be together."

"Only for a couple of weeks," Race finally put in. "There's not even two weeks of camp left. And you'll both be in New York after that, for a few days, at least."

David sighed. "You really can't think of anything else?"

Jack shook his head, and they looked over at Race. He shook his head, too.

"Well, damn." David hesitated. "I mean, have you really thought about this? If you get fired, then the next job you apply to is going to find out that you broke your contract and... I mean, that won't be good, either."

"No, it won't," Jack said. "But it's not like I can just let them get sued. I mean..." He laughed a little, but it wasn't a happy laugh at all. "Let's face it, my future was never, like... I just don't think I'm going anywhere great anyway, so who cares if it's a little harder?"

"Don't talk like that," David said firmly. "You and I are going wherever we want"

"Davey," Jack said, sounding embarrassed. "You're not making this easy for me."

"I don't want you to do this," David said. "I _don't_."

Jack hesitated.

Racetrack cleared his throat. "David..."

David groaned. "Don't say anything, Race. I know," he said. "I just don't like it."

"Neither do I," Race said.

"Me three," Jack said. "But, uh, I'd kind of like to get this over with..."

"I'm going with you," David said immediately.

Jack hesitated, then nodded. After all, Mrs. Higgins and Mr. Denton had promised David wouldn't be in trouble, so maybe it would be better if he was there. Maybe it would give him a little more courage, because the idea of disappointing Mrs. Higgins was still hard for Jack to stomach.

Jack looked at Race, who sighed. "I'd better not. Mom will be pissed, so if I wait and talk to her tomorrow... maybe I can calm her down or something."

"Or maybe you'll honorably commit suicide on our behalves?" David muttered cynically.

"Mom isn't so bad," Race said, and thought about it. "Well. Not _so_ bad. I can try, anyway. But you two had better..."

"Yeah." Jack took a deep breath. "Let's go, Dave. Before I lose my nerve."

David nodded silently, and they made their way off the porch and on to the main path. When they were out of sight of the dining hall, Jack reached for David's hand, and even though they knew it was possible they might be seen, neither one cared. It was all going to be rumor mill fodder anyway, and being together really felt like the only way to cope. But even so, the trek up to the Higgins house, which was built to overlook most of the main camp lands, felt like it took hours.

Once they reached the Higgins' porch, Jack took a deep breath. He looked at David and gave him a very, very quick peck on the lips, then rang the bell. It was after nine, so it took a minute before the door was answered, but finally it opened. Mr. Higgins stood behind it, looking surprised.

"I need to talk to you," Jack said softly.

Mr. Higgins blinked, then nodded. "Well, this doesn't bode well," he answered, and stood aside to let them in. He led them into a living room which looked well worn, but was covered with pictures of the family. Which, David mused, wouldn't be too hard with a family the size of their clan. He and Jack sat on an overstuffed, faded couch, and waited. A moment later, Mr. Higgins returned, his wife accompanying him.

"Jack?" she asked.

"Mrs. Higgins, I... I haven't been entirely honest with you," Jack finally said, his voice breaking. "I didn't want it to... Whatever I was thinking, it doesn't matter, but I, I know you went out on a limb to defend me and believe me, and I couldn't... I couldn't risk you both getting in any kind of trouble because of me. I'm so sorry."

Mr. and Mrs. Higgins exchanged glances, and finally Mrs. Higgins nodded. "Start at the beginning."

Jack stared down at his mud-stained sneakers and started. It was hard to get through the story, but when he floundered, he felt the slight pressure of David's hand on his. David didn't say anything, though, so Jack continued, and explained what had happened, how they'd gotten together, and what had happened the night they'd been caught.

When he finished, there was silence. It was David who broke it, saying firmly, "Being with Jack was my decision. He never pressured me, ever. So everything is at least half my fault."

"Dave..." Jack mumbled.

"Unfortunately, that's not quite how it works," Mrs. Higgins said. "Jack... It's clear you know how serious this is."

Jack nodded. "I'm sorry I lied," he said quietly. "But I'm not sorry about my relationship with David. He makes me happier than... Than a lot of things."

"We do understand that," Mr. Higgins put in. "And in other circumstances, we'd be very pleased for you."

"That... That means a lot to me," Jack said. He finally looked up, looked at them seriously. "I know you two have done so much for me. I... I know you offered to adopt me."

Another silence descended. This was news to David, who knew that Jack was close to the Higgins family, but hadn't realized he was so close. And Mr. and Mrs. Higgins hadn't told Jack about that particular foiled plan of theirs; they hadn't wanted him to get his hopes up in case it didn't work out. Which, obviously, it hadn't. His mother had refused their offer, despite the fact that she seemed to resent Jack's presence.

"Mom told me when she was pissed at me one night," Jack said. "That I should be grateful she hadn't just given me away when she had the chance."

"Oh, Jack," Mrs. Higgins murmured, and did the last thing anyone had expected her to. She sat down on the couch next to him, put her arms around him, and hugged him close. They stayed that way for a long minute, and suddenly to David, Jack looked so much younger. Maybe because he'd missed this, when he was younger; David doubted he'd ever really had any tenderness from either parent. And maybe Mrs. Higgins, despite being so strict and so stern, really did have a gentler side to heror at least a lot of practice at helping out upset teenage boys.

When they finally parted, Jack seemed to have lost his composure a little, but he seemed more comfortable. And Mrs. Higgins didn't seem mad, or disappointed. Maybe just a little concerned.

"Well, this is a real mess," she said finally.

"I'm sorry," Jack said quickly.

"What's done is done. Now we know the truth, and we can begin to fix things," she said. "And Jack, we do understand that coming here tonight took real bravery, and it shows what we mean to you. Don't think we don't appreciate that."

He nodded.

"Well," Mr. Higgins said. "The way I see it, we've got a few problems to deal with. There's David's family, there's your contract, and there's the Delanceys."

"My family won't be a problem," David said quickly.

"We have to tell them," Mrs. Higgins said.

"No," David answered firmly. "_I_ have to tell them."

"Then call them tomorrow."

David shook his head no. "I'm really, really not ready to do that yet," he said. "I mean, I've barely got my head wrapped around this whole... thing. I wouldn't even know _how_ to tell them, but I think my parents deserve to hear it from me."

Exchanged glances, then, "Maria and I will discuss that."

"We can't do much about the Delanceys," Mrs. Higgins put in. "Regardless of all of what you've just said, I still believe we made the right decision; we also have enough documented incidents of Oscar alone to justify our decision."

Mr. Higgins nodded. "Agreed. And Rebel will do as the unit head for the rest of the summer."

"And... About me?" Jack asked.

More exchanged looks. "Well, we'll have to discuss that, too."

"You can't fire him," David said.

"David..." Mrs. Higgins sighed. "We will do what we can, but... We do have to protect ourselves, and our family."

"You can't fire someone for being _gay_!"

"David, we would never fire someone for being gay. That's not the issue at alland it's not a very well kept secret that we have other gay counselors. That is not our concern."

David fell silent, rebuked. It stung mostly because he knew she was right, and though Jack being gay might play worse in court, it was obvious that she and her husband both cared for him and neither wanted to see him hurt.

"I can't believe this," David muttered.

Jack gave his hand a squeeze. "Well, I can... I can handle whatever happens, so it'll be fine."

"David, why don't you head back to your cabin for the night?" Mr. Higgins suggested. "And Jack, you're welcome to stay here; you can take Tony's room."

Understanding the implicit order, Jack nodded. "Yeah, thanks a bunch. I'm really... I'm really sorry."

Mrs. Higgins just nodded. "We know you are, dear. And regardless of what happens, we will _always_ care for you, and this house will always be open to you."

"Thank you," he said quietly. And that seemed all there was to say, for the time; David was whisked back outside, and Jack in to get ready for bed. And once the Higginses were alone again, the discussion really began.

*

"Hi, this is Mike and Gary's message, we can't get to the phone right now. If you leave your name and number, we'll call you right back." _Beep_.

"Hello, you two, this is Mom calling. I know it's late, I _won't_ ask what you're doing out at this time of night, but if you could give me a call back"

"Maria?" The answering machine clicked off, and Gary picked up the phone.

"Gary! I hope I didn't wake you."

"I'm a grad student, Maria, I never sleep. Mike's pretty much unconscious, though; I thought he was going to get it, but he didn't even roll over."

"Sleeping through ruckus was a survival skill in this house," she said.

Gary laughed. "I can believe that. Hey, it's late, is everything okay? Do you want me to wake him?"

"Oh, no, everything's... Well, it can keep until morning."

"Okay." Pause. "Anything I can do? What's going on?"

"Oh, well... Hm." She sighed. "We're just having some problems here, I thought maybe I'd get his opinion on something, but..."

"Here, let me wake him"

"No, that's fine. It was nice talking to you, dear. How's your..." She trailed off. "How's school?" She changed her mind at last moment; Gary was always a little touchy over the subject of his family, and asking about them didn't seem quite right.

"I spilled coffee on my laptop at three AM last night; I panicked and woke up Mike and made him deal with it. Hence he's so exhausted. Otherwise, school's fine."

"Did he fix it?"

"He says there's not really a cure for coffee drenching, but I'm using his while he fiddles with it at work anyway."

"Ah, well..." She paused, took a deep breath, and commented, "Do you have to get back to work right away?"

"Nah, I'm just grading papers. So really, I'd much prefer talking to gouging my eyes out. Which is my other option."

"That bad?"

"It's the freshman intro class; it's worse than you can imagine. So what's up?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure how to say it... Do you remember Tony's friends? Jack and David?"

"Sure, the mid-western kid with the floppy hair, and the really quiet one."

Mrs. Higgins almost snorted at the description of David as really quiet, but aloud said, "Well, it seems that they're... together."

"Okay."

"And you know I don't have a problem with _that_, of course, I just wanted to..."

"Maria, I'm sure you're not overreacting, and Mike doesn't think you're homophobic, and neither do I."

She let out a relieved breath. Things had been awkward when Mike had first come out, and nearly as awkward again when he'd first brought Gary home from college. The whole family was used to them being together now, but it had taken quite awhile to adjust.

"Thank you, although for a change, that wasn't quite what my problem was."

"Oh?"

"Jack's a counselor and David is a camper, and we're worried about legal problems more than anything else."

"_Oh_."

"And even thatwell, we're dealing with it as best as we can. But we aren't sure if we should alert David's parents yet... they don't know anything about him being gay, and he says he'd prefer not to be rushed into telling them."

"And you wanted Mike's opinion on this?"

"And yours," she said. "I know you... well, neither of you had the best experiences with your family finding out."

"Maria, Mike really isn't upset anymore. And I've _never_ felt unwelcome in your house. Stop worrying."

"I do my best not to worry, but he's my son... Well, I can't change what I did in the past, I just hope he knows how much I love him, and how happy I am for the two of you."

"We _both_ know, Maria. So you're trying to decide if you should out this kid?"

"That's a large part of your dilemma, yes," she agreed.

"Oh, man. That's a toughie." Gary sighed into the phone. "Well. If I'd had my way, I still wouldn't be out to my parents. That was ten times the fiasco of Mike's coming out, and my dad still won't be in a room with me, so... Yeah, it's no fun to get outed. But on the other hand, waiting wouldn't have helped anything for me. It might have for Mike, though."

"Do you really think so?"

"I think he'd have handled you guys better if he'd been more ready to come out, a little more mature, sure," Gary said. "And then again, there's the possibility that if he'd waited, you'd have figured it out on your own, and been ready for him. But he was only fifteen at the time, and very defiant, and defensive, and as good an idea as it seemed to be to tell you immediately... Well. Who knows?"

"You... you aren't relieved that your parents know?"

"No," Gary said softly. "I lost my father the day they found out. And I won't have my mother back until he dies and she's not afraid of looking like she's on my side, either."

"Oh, Gary, honey..."

"Well, I'm okay now. See, in college I met this boy who I liked, and now I have an almost absurd amount of in-laws to keep me busy." He paused. "So I don't know. You might need to cover your backside, and do what you have to. But if it was up to me, I'd leave it to the kid. He knows himself and his family."

"Hm. Thank you, Gary."

"No problem, Maria. Heyhang on, I hear zombie noises from the other room. One second." What came next was muffled, but clear enough. "Hey, hot stuff! Your mom's on the phone, tell her you love her."

A pause, then a very sleepy, "Ma?"

"Hello, darling."

"Love you, Ma."

"You too, Mike. Go back to bed."

"Okay. 'Night, Ma."

Gary returned to the phone after that. "Goodnight, Maria. Good luck."

"Good luck with your papers, Gary. Goodnight."

She hung up the phone and thought.

*

Things were not going well.

"_Look_, Dad, this wasn't myDad... You _know_ why I can't go back to Mom's it's... Damn it, Dad, it's only two weeks! IHang on a second, you _don't_ pay for this camp, and... Dad, I'm _sorry_, okay. I'm sorry! But I..."

Jack gave up and just listened to his father rant for a few minutes. And when his father seemed to be winding down, tried again. "I told you. I don't have a _choice_, it's not like this is my idea of fun either!"

More ranting, which eventually resolved into something like acquiescence. "Okay... Well, I'll be there tonight. I'm sorry. _Bye_."

He wasn't sure if he or his father slammed the phone first.

He buried his head in his hand for a second, then took a deep breath and sat up. They'd given him awhile alone, to get things settled. Now that his dad, despite being none too thrilled with the news, knew that he was coming, and he had a bus ticket (scheduled for that same day) all ready to go, all that was left was to resign.

That was one of their concessions. First, they had agreed to let David come out to his parents in his own time, but with the caveat that they wouldn't lie if asked any questions about itso he'd better be honest. The second was this, that instead of being fired, Jack would be allowed to resign. It came down to the same thing, he was out of camp for the summer; but this way, it would save Jack's reputation when it came to his resume and future jobs. It wasn't much, but it was the best they could do for himand more than he probably deserved.

All he had to do was sign the letter of resignation he'd spent half the morning writing. Then the whole stupid mess was done, and at least he'd done what he could to fix it. But he'd been assured by Denton and Mrs. Higgins that, since he was leaving, Oscar wouldn't have a leg to stand on if he sued; and again, since was leaving, there wouldn't be much the Jacobs family could do either, if things went badly. Demand their money back, get the camp investigated, surebut their reasons for _not_ alerting the family were all documented, and David had assured them the family would be fine, and all they could do was hope.

"Jack?" Mrs. Higgins's voice echoed down the stairwell. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed. The part of his morning that hadn't been spent writing the letter and fighting with his father had been spent packing.

"It's time, then."

Jack took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed his name to the resignation letter. He stood, picked up his bus ticket, and started up the stairs. A small group was waiting: Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, Racetrack, David, and Sneakers. Sneakers looked a little baffled, and was holding a set of keys to one of the camp's vans in one hand.

There was a quick round of hugs. "Jack," Mrs. Higgins said firmly, "I hope you'll be joining us for Christmas, as usual."

"If... If you want me to."

"Well, assuming you don't have anyone else to visit," she answered.

"Race..." Jack mumbled, facing his best friend.

"Hey, at least you know my address by heart, right? You'd better write."

Jack nodded. "Thanks for everything, Race."

"That's what I'm here for... Just try and be less stupid from now on."

Jack cracked a ghost of a smile, and Race returned it, and they hugged hesitantly. "...But seriously, write to me."

"I will. Seriously." Jack nodded.

"Well, I guess I'm driving you," Sneakers said, "and maybe on the way, someone could explain to me what is actually going on."

"No, dear, I don't think so," Mrs. Higgins said. "It's not really any of your business."

"Great, then I'll just believe all the gossip and rumors, I guess."

Jack turned to David, who cut him off. "I'm going to the station with you. I got special permission and everything."

"Okay." Jack nodded, and reached for his duffel bag, which was lying on the floor. "We should go, then. And... tell everyone I say goodbye, okay?"

Everyone nodded, feeling too subdued to speak, and so they started off quickly. The ride to the station was agonizing and silent. Sneakers didn't know what was going on, but Jack and David sat together in the back, holding hands. There didn't seem much to say until they were perched in front of the small town's single-gate bus station.

Sneakers waited in the van, while Jack and David stood outside, waiting for the bus to roll up. It was only when it did that they realized there was still so much to say.

"Davey"

"Jack"

"Me first. II'm sorry about all of this mess and getting you involved, but I, I wouldn't trade being with you for anything, anything at all. David... Even with all this crap, I'm happier than I've been because of you. So... So whatever happens, don't forget about that. Don't forget about me, okay?"

"Forget about you?" David repeated. "How could I ever do that? Without you, I'd have been miserable all summer, and I wouldn't... I wouldn't have realized any of this stuff about myself. And instead of just realizing it, I got to be with you, and I... I'll see you in under two weeks. You'll come visit me first thing when I get home, right?"

"Nothing could keep me away."

The bus door swung open, and people began to stack luggage in the compartments below the bus. "I have to go, but Dave, I'll write to you every day."

"Me, too. I miss you already..."

"Same here. But it's... It's only a week and a half." And, because no one at the bus station cared much, Jack reached out to give David a last hug and a quick kiss. "And if you really care about me, you'll go to riding."

"That will never happen."

"It was worth a shot."

"Have a safe trip, Jack. I'll see you soon. I'll write you tonight."

Jack nodded and wanted to say more, or hug again, or avoid leaving for just a little longerbut everyone else had filed on to the bus, and he had no choice but to join them. David waited for the bus door to shut and the bus to take off before trudging back to the van, where he slid into the shotgun seat next to Sneakers.

"So, not to pry into your personal life or anything, but you and Jack...? And he got fired...?"

"Something like that," David mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Dave."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"...But you know what the worst part is?" Sneakers continued, ignoring David's comment.

"What?" David answered, staring out the window blankly. He felt drained, like he could just sleep for the next week and a half. He'd know saying goodbye to Jack would be hard, but he just wanted to curl up alone and block out the world.

"This means that Jack got me last. Aw, _man_," Sneakers said, and glanced over at David. He gave him a wan smile. "Things aren't so bad, Mouth. You've still got the rest of the guys, and the theater, and everything else. I know it's going to be awkward as word gets around, but you're going to be _fine_."

Somehow, David had a hard time believing that.


	36. Best Friends Forever

The next day at mail call, David had two letters, or rather a letter and a postcard. Both were from Jack. He brought them up to the cabin before even glancing at them; everyone had been giving him sideways looks and trying to slyly imply questions without asking them since the previous day.

He was trying not to snap at them. But the only way he'd managed to find to keep his irritation and sarcasm under control was to not say anything at all. Which meant David, the walking mouth himself, had become the quietest kid at camp.

He shuffled up the ladder onto his bunk, collapsed on the mattress, and looked at the postcard.

"So, uh, David," Racetrack said, walking into the cabin. "How... how is he? You've got a letter from him, right?"

David glanced over at him, but there were other people following. He shrugged, and turned back to the post card.

It looked like it could have been bought in any tourist shop in New York. It had the Statute of Liberty, and the I Heart NY logo. Jack's handwriting was a tight, crooked scribble, but not too hard to read.

> Davey
> 
>  
> 
> My dad sucks. Miss you already. More soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Jack

David tried hard not to worry about what Jack meant about his dad sucking, his brain immediately leaping back into its Jackinthehospital worst case scenario, but somehow, David doubted Jack would have been able to grab a post card, write it, address it, stamp it, and get it in the mail so quickly if he were actually injured.

And besides, there was the letter.

He opened it carefully, and saw the letter was two pages long. It started with an explanation of the post card. Jack's father was at work when he arrived, which would have been fine, but he hadn't left any way for Jack to get into the building. He'd been standing outside with a duffle bag until someone else exited, then spent the next three hours sitting outside his apartment door. But Jack hadn't wanted to start a fight first thing when he saw his dad, so he didn't say anything. But he did go back out as soon as he'd found the spare key, and picked up the post card and stamps.

The rest of the letter was split between more apologies for everything that had happened, and confessions of how much he already missed David. Things that would be very incriminating if left around.

David folded the letter and post card, and slid them into his back pocket, then lay down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Dave?" Racetrack asked again, standing at the edge of the bunkbed.

"He's fine," David mumbled.

"You gonna audition for the show?" he asked, glancing over at Mush, who had collapsed on his bunk in a fashion similar to David's. He looked pretty exhausted himself. "It should be awesome."

"Why?" David mumbled, not really caring.

"Because we're doing our yearly Shakespeare adaptation. This year, it's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. With gender bending."

"What?" David asked again, this time sort of curious despite himself.

"It's being cast with girls in the boys' parts, and vice versa."

"Why?"

"Because Medda is psycho!" Mush yelled angrily from across the room.

"Mush hates Shakespeare week," Race said. "Because, well... guess who always gets the romantic lead."

David thought about Mush, and then about Trixie and Mondie and the rest, and then nodded.

"So you should audition," Race continued, "since he'll need his friends around to keep him sane."

"I'll think about it," David said blankly.

But David spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in his bunk, writing a letter to Jack. And everyone knew, but no one wanted to make him do anything else. He wasn't sure if that was out of sympathy, but he didn't care too much.

*

Mush could actually feel the vein. It was on his forehead, and it was throbbing. He wondered if it was noticeable to anyone outside of his head.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

"Mushy, don't you want to read a scene with me?"

Pound.

"He's busy! He's got to read with me. We have a love scene to practice."

Pound. Pound.

"So? It's just acting, he doesn't love you."

"Oh, like he loves you?"

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

"He took me to the dance!"

Pound.

"He was blackmailed into that, I heard all about it!"

Mush massaged his temples. They were sitting on opposite sides of him, yelling across him. Right into his ears. And it wouldn't matter if he spoke up, and tried to tell them that he didn't like either one of them; such things were just laughed off. Then they went right back to arguing.

His head went right on pounding.

*

"Hey, Dave."

David rolled over and saw Sneakers standing in the door to the bunk, the mud encrusted sneakers from which he got his name hanging from his hands by the laces. Racetrack had somehow browbeaten or blackmailed him into promising to leave them outside. They always tracked up the cabin and they kind of smelled. He dropped them just outside the door, stepped in, and let the door bang shut.

David didn't say anything.

"So, here's the thing... It's been two days since Jack left, and as far I know, the only time you've left the cabin is for meals. Everyone's been kind of looking the other way about it, but, uh... you're frankly starting to get creepy."

Sneakers laughed nervously, like he expected David to find it funny, but David just stared at him and blinked.

"So... what do you say? I know archery isn't your favorite, but you must be in the mood to shoot something, right?"

David stared.

"Or maybe theater? You missed the audition and all, but Mush could definitely use a sane voice around, and Medda said there's always work backstage. Or, you know, you could go to tennis, or... sailing, or swimming, or something that's outdoors. Or even, hey, arts and crafts! That's inside, no risk of sunburn..."

David rolled over again, facing away from him.

"Or, I guess, you could waste the last two weeks of camp lying there like a slug. I'm sure Jack would really think that's a great idea. Except... oh, wait, wasn't he the one whose sole goal in life was to get you to go to riding? Outdoors, with animals and people and... physical exertion?"

"I don't do physical exertion," David mumbled. "And Jack's not here."

"You know, Dave, I realize you don't take me very seriously or anything. But I'm a few years older than you are, and a little more experienced. So if you could try to momentarily take me seriously, I just want to put this out there. It's never healthy to let your whole life be another person. Never. Jack is a great guy, and I respect that you don't want to actually tell me that you two were together, but regardless of if he's your best friend or boyfriend, you have other friends. Race and Blink and Mush, the crazy girls in the theater... They all are your friends, too. And you were having fun. I'm sure Jack was great and all, but he wasn't the only good thing. Think about it, okay?"

David didn't answer.

"And that's what I get for speaking in monologues, jeeze. Enjoy your nap."

*

The worst part was that Mush actually liked Shakespeare. Well, he was a thespian; he had to like Shakespeare. He was pretty sure he could get killed in his sleep if he didn't. He liked the cadence and rhythm of Shakespearian dialogue. He liked the wacky hijinks of the comedies and the heartbreak in the tragedies. He liked the neuroses of each and every character. In fact, he had dreams of playing Hamlet someday.

Which didn't change the fact that Shakespeare week at camp made him absolutely, positively, incredibly miserable. The cross casting thing just made it even worse; somehow, not only was Mush playing a romantic lead, he was now playing the woman who was chased after by two separate men, who were being played by Trixie and Mondie. Maybe Medda just thought she was being funny. That didn't really matter to Mush, who really just wanted everyone involved in the stupid thing to drop dead.

He really couldn't blame David for lying in bed all day, writing love letters or... whatever it was. He'd mailed off a lengthy letter addressed to Jack every day, and though the rumors had a lot of different versions of it, one thing was consistent in every one: something morethanfriendly was going on with Jack and David.

Which was kind of weird. Jack was a flirt; it had never occurred to Mush that he might be gay. And David... well, he'd never considered David one way or the other. But Jack and David together was just surprising.

Even though they'd spent a lot of time together. Everyone had noticed that. And maybe they touched each other a little more than was normal. Not everyone had noticed that, but Mush, who was used to spending time with guys who did theater, and thus were a little more touchyfeely than usual (and probably a higher percentage were gay than usual) had noticed. He just hadn't ever thought...

Well, it made some sort of sense. Kind of.

After rehearsal, the pounding in Mush's head subsided a bit. He hurried out of the theater and dashed up to the boys' cabin before any of the girls could follow him, shoving a surprised Teachthe second male lead in showinto the gaggle of girls in his place. Teach looked started and not quite thrilled, not that Mush blamed him, but Mush didn't wait around. He figured that having a boy to fawn over would distract them long enough for his escape.

At the cabin, David was once again lying in his bunk, scratching out something in his notebook. Mush would have been willing to bet that it started with, "Dear Jack..."

"Dave," Mush announced.

"Mph," David mumbled, which was the closest to acknowledging anyone he seemed to get anymore.

"David, please," Mush said. "I really, really, really need someone around the theater to help me fend off Trixie and Mondie. The only idea I have left to do it myself involves using a really big stick and demanding that they stay a stick's length away from me at all times, or they get clubbed with it, and I don't think that's going to fly with Medda."

David gave Mush a long, bored look.

"I just need someone there to distract them so I can escape," he continued desperately. "Please? I'll be your best friend?"

"What, are you a twelveyearold girl?" David asked.

Mush scowled. "Fine, but when I kill someone, you're going to end up charged with conspiracy or something, because this is clearly me telling you beforehand, and you refusing to try and prevent it."

"Whatever," David said.

*

Sneakers actually was beginning to feel like he was involved in a conspiracy. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins had not so subtlety hinted that it was up to him to convince David to rejoin the human race. He had talked it over with Medda and Mush, but Mush's pleas and Medda's repeatedly pointing out that she could use a hand backstage had done nothing. Racetrack hadn't had any good ideas, either.

David was clearly determined to be a stubborn pain in the butt.

This was going to take some doing, he decided, as he flipped through the camp's directory of contact information and reached for the phone.

*

Paint was fuming and Sneakers was pretending not to notice.

"Are you mad at me?" she finally snapped, cornering him in the counselor cabin after dinner.

"Huh?" he asked innocently.

"You changed your day off like you didn't think I'd notice or anything," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. "Which means you didn't want to have your day off with me anymore. So are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, it's nothing." Sneakers leaned forward to kiss her quickly. "Look, I just have some business to take care of. I'm sorry I didn't tell you first, but I'll get it done, so things will be back to normal next week."

She stepped away from him. "You had some business? What, are you in the mob or something?"

"Nothing that interesting."

She glared at him. He winced.

"Okay, look, it's kind of a secret, but if it works out it'll be a really great surprise," he said quickly. "And... I've never asked you to just trust me without an explanation before, but... Please? I promise, I swear this is something that's going to be really cool once I can tell you."

Paint paused, bit her lip, and considered. "Is it just this week, or next week, too?"

"Just this week."

"Fine," she snapped. "But this is suspicious and weird, and I want you to know that letting it go is going to take some effort."

He smiled back at her. "Thanks. Seriously. It's... It's important to me, and it'll be good, really."

"It had better."

"Hey, you want to help me try and find a way to trick David out of the cabin? I've got something in the works, but otherwise, all I can think of that I haven't tried yet is setting it on fire. And, uh, the Higginses kind of vetoed that."

Paint smiled a little. "Remind me again why I love you?" she teased.

*

"Mail call!" Sneakers announced, and began handing out letters to the boys in the cabin. Usually there was something for almost everyone; Race rarely got mail, since he lived there, but everyone else got a letter or two a week. Though only David had been getting them daily, lately. "Oh, look, another postcard for David, from Jack. What a shock."

Sneakers tossed it onto David's bunk with calculated casualness, and went on with handing letters out. David snatched up the postcard, glanced at the Empire State Building picture for a split second, then flipped it over to get the message.

> Davey
> 
>  
> 
> I miss you. Now stop moping and go outside.
> 
>  
> 
> Jack
> 
>  
> 
> (PS: The sun won't hurt you, I promise.)

David read it again, then looked up at Sneakers, who was innocently staring out the window.

"You suck," he said.

"Hm? I have no idea what you're talking about," Sneakers answered. "But I hear that Medda is still holding open that stage manager position for tomorrow's show."

*

David sat in the first row of seats in the theater, a script open in front of him. He could hear Mush running lines with Trixie and Mondie up on stage... or something like that, anyway, since they didn't seem to be going over lines so much as Mondie and Trixie were shrieking at one another about who had sole possession of Mush's heart. Mush's attempts at pointing out that, in fact, neither of them had even his mild affection were lost in the din.

Next to David sat a younger camper named Worm. She had explained at great length that it was supposed to be Bookworm, but people just couldn't be bothered. Not caring too much, he'd just nodded. She was the show's Puck, and one of the few characters who'd been given monologues to deliver in the actual, Shakespearian dialectmost of the play had been simplified and modernized.

Worm was a good enough actress, he supposed, but she was only thirteen and some of the memorization was pretty difficult. David followed along in his script while she tried to make her way through the final monologue:

> "If we shadows have offended,
> 
>  
> 
> Think but this, and all is mended
> 
>  
> 
> That you have but slumbered here
> 
>  
> 
> While these visions did appear.
> 
>  
> 
> And this weak and idle theme,
> 
>  
> 
> No more yielding but a dream,
> 
>  
> 
> Gentles, do not..."

She looked over at David and scowled. "What's the next part?"

He glanced at his script. "You don't even want to guess?"

"If I had a guess, I'd have said it," she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ooookay," he said. "'Gentles, do not repre'"

"Reprehend, I got it, jeeze."

David nodded. "I'll bet you get the comment, 'She's very bright,' but rarely, 'Is a pleasure to have in class,' on your report cards, huh?"

"Shut up!" she snapped. "'Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will   
mend.' Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Good." She crossed her arms. "I don't get what the big deal is with Shakespeare, anyway."

David blinked. "You... don't get the big deal? It's Shakespeare, the most influential writer of all time. You don't get the big deal?"

"Well, some of Shakespeare is very good. But people get this big, dramatic idea that it's all excellent, and it isn't. People would know if they just read."

"Right, not everything is stellar, but... it's Shakespeare," David said again. "And even if you personally don't like it, you've got to respect the Bard."

"Why, because everyone else does?" she demanded bitterly.

"No," David said slowly. "You've got to respect Shakespeare because plays he wrote in the 1590s are still resonant today, and no one has discovered anything to say about the human condition that he didn't say first."

Worm stared at him for a second in slight shock, then scowled, and said, "Anyway, I have to get this memorized. I don't need your help."

David raised an eyebrow. "Obviously not. Besides, I'd better go break up..." He nodded vaguely to the stage, where Mush was banging his forehead into his palm repeatedly, while Mondie had her arms wrapped around his neck and was yelling at Trixie, who had her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I don't get it," Worm said. "I mean, he's kind of cute and all, but..."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be relieved you're not joining the fanclub. Excuse me." David stood up, flipped through his script, and selected a scene at random. "Okay, everyone on stage! Places for, uh, act two, scene two! If you aren't in the scene, sit down and shut up! Okay, let's go, people!"

Mush slunk off of the stage and threw himself down on one of the benches, and David quickly took the seat next to him to prevent one of the girls from sitting there. "You are my hero," Mush hissed. "You couldn't have shown up four days ago?"

"I was busy," David answered.

"Busy doing what, lying in bed?"

"Yes. I had some very important sulking to do. Now shut up, I'm allegedly paying attention."

Mush shot him a smile. "So... that whole sulking thing? Because Jack left?"

"I don't really want to talk about it." David flipped open the notebook Medda had told him to carry, and began jotting down prop and entrance/exit notes from the script, to double check that they had everything. He didn't really care too much about stage managing, but figured that he should at least attempt to do a decent job, to get everyone off his back, if nothing else. Sneakers had become borderline intolerable for the past few days.

*

Sneakers raised his beer. "Cheers," he declared, clinking it against Dutchy's bright pink drink. He'd ordered both of them, to avoid Dutchy having to pretend to be older than he was again; and again, Specs wasn't drinking, since they were using his car. "So who's this band?" he added, nodding at the group on stage.

"Just something local," Dutchy answered. "They seem to play here every week."

"Too bad Alec isn't here," Specs added. "So far he's got the CD, then the autograph... maybe this time he'd work up the courage to ask for her number."

"Bumlets?" Sneakers said, then looked at the woman on stage. "And her?"

"Oh, it's the cutest thing ever," Specs said gleefully. "He has a crush on her and we've meet her a couple of times, but he freezes up every time she says hello, and when she tries to flirt with him he hides behind us. I've never seen a boy so shy."

Dutchy gave Specs a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, stop being a baby about it, you're cuter than he is."

"Darn right I am."

"Especially when drinking something bright pink, with strawberries in it."

"I like my drink, thank you."

Sneakers gave them an odd look.

"Hey," Specs said, ignoring whatever it was that had just happened between them. "We should catch her after the set and tell her that Alec really misses her... And provide a phone number."

"Not practical while he's at camp," Dutchy said. "Maybe a mail address?"

"Maybe." Specs considered. "Actually, I have a better idea, come to think of it."

*

After dinner, David found himself in the company of others, really by choice, for the first time in quite awhile. He was hiking up to the cabin with everyone else from his bunk; they were all grabbing sweat shirts for an allcamp bonfire on the beach that night.

Unfortunately, they were being followed.

"Mush! Mushy!"

"Just. Keep. Walking," Mush hissed, ignoring the insistent voices behind him. But it didn't do any good; Trixie jogged up to catch the group, and immediately grabbed his arm. Not to be outdone, or risk letting Trixie have any time with Mush without her, Mondie ran up to his other side and took his other arm possessively.

"Mush, I don't think you heard me," she said.

"I heard you, I was ignoring you."

She giggled. "You're so funny!"

"I wasn't joking." He pulled his arms free and shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping that would prevent any more grabbing. It didn't; Trixie took the opportunity to throw a whole arm around his shoulder. Left out now, Mondie scowled at her.

Trixie giggled again regardless of the fact that he wasn't joking. "I was just wondering if you'd like to sit with me at the fire tonight."

"Or me!" Mondie put in. "Actually, I can tell you for a fact that Trixie did not shower today, so I smell much better and would be more pleasant to sit with."

"Hey!" Trixie yelled. "That's not true!"

"Is so," Mondie snapped. "So anyway, I was thinking that if you sat with me, we could share a blanket, and make smores together, and then a little down the line maybe go out a few times? Get married? I've always wanted a little girl, but if we had a boy, that would be fine. And"

"Stop!" Mush yelled, breaking free. He stopped walking, and turned around to stare at them. The rest of the bunk stopped and turned around to watch. "Just stop. Stop asking me out, stop touching me, stop talking to me, and please, for the love of God, stop hitting on me!"

Mondie and Trixie exchanged looks that seemed genuinely confused for a moment. "But... why?" Mondie finally asked.

"Because I just don't like you!" he yelled. "I justII feel stalked! Everywhere I go, you're right there; every time I turn around, you're grabbing me! It's horrible, so just knock it off!"

"Horrible?" Trixie echoed. "Having two cute girls in love with you is horrible?" She sounded a little upset as she said it, but Mush didn't seem to notice.

"You aren't in love with me, you're just insane," he said. "Completely and totally mental. Nuts!"

"But..." Trixie's lip began to tremble a little. "We just wanted you to like us."

"Well, you failed." Mush crossed his arms, looking grumpy.

Trixie's eyes welled up, and Mondie picked up the conversation. "We didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice wavering. "You didn't have to yell."

"Yes, I did," he snapped.

Mondie glanced at Trixie again, then said shakily, "Well, fine, if that's how you feel. But you didn't have to be mean about it! Just asking us to back off would have been fine..."

"I did ask you to back off, and you didn't, because you apparently aren't very smart, either."

"Uh, Mush?" Race said, leaning forward. "Come on, you made your point."

"No, it's fine," Mondie sighed. "If he hates us that much, why should he try and be nice, just so he doesn't hurt our feelings? We obviously don't mean anything to him, not even as friends, so it doesn't matter anyway." She took a deep breath. "Come on, Trixie."

Trixie was actually sniffling now, and Mush sighed.

"Look, I didn't mean... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't?" Trixie asked.

"No... Don't cry." It looked like Mush winced a little as he said that, though.

"But you hate us!"

"I don't hate you." Mush sighed, looking defeated. He could continue his tirade and not care about hurt feelings, or he could actually care and risk having to deal with them for the rest of the summer. And until he'd actually seen them tear up and sound so fragile, he'd been sure he didn't care at all. Unfortunately, when faced with being the kind of guy who made not one, but two girls run off crying...

"You said you did." Trixie wiped tears away from her cheek.

"No, I said I don't, uh, I'm not interested in you. Like that," he said quickly. "Which I'm not. But we can still be friends, right?"

"Friends?" Mondie said. "Just friends? You don't... You don't find us attractive at all?"

And now here it was, the rock and the hard place. She still looked pretty fragile, and Mush didn't think he could said no, he didn't find them attractive, and not be back to the crying; on the other hand, if he said he did, then... well, he'd be stuck with them stalking him for the rest of the summer, if not the rest of his life.

Then, as he began to panic and the silence became awkwardly long, a brilliant idea occurred to him. A little fib, and since this was probably his last summer at camp, unless he returned as a counselor, he'd only have to live with it for a week. It would be a little lie and save him a week of horror. It was perfect.

"It's not that you aren't pretty," he finally said. "It's that I... I... I don't like girls."

There was another silence, this one a little surprised. "Really?" Trixie finally said. "Because you've always, always said you're not gay."

"No, I am," he said quickly. "Yep. Gay. The gayest. Definitely. Sorry, but it looks like that's not going to work out for you. Oh, well. Have a nice night."

"But wait a minute, no, hang on," Mondie said. "I've spent a lot of time with gay guys. I mean, a lot. And even when we've teased you, you never seemed gay. And since everyone wanted you to be, why would you bother hiding it? I don't buy it."

"Hope springs eternal," David mumbled to himself.

"I... uh..." Mush looked around desperately. "I really am gay! Really," he said. "I mean, seriously."

"Uh huh," Trixie said, picking up on Mondie's cynicism. "I just don't see it."

"What?! I... Um..." Mush glanced around again, this time his gaze fixating on Blink, whose arm he grabbed. "Sorry," he hissed under his breath, dragging Blink forward. "Blink knows."

"I do?" Blink repeated, then more confidently when Mush gave his arm a none too subtle squeeze, "Yeah, I do. Definitely." Another squeeze. "He, uh, told me. A long time ago."

"Why?" Mondie asked, then smiled a little bit, looking eerily predatory. "Did he like you?"

"No"

"Yes!" Mush declared emphatically. "See? I'm totally gay and thus unavailable to anyone heterosexual. See, I can prove it!"

Blink saw what was coming the second before it happened, and tried to squirm out of Mush's grip, but apparently, Mush had realized he'd be trying to flee and dug his fingers in to Blink's arm as he reached forward to put an arm around Blink's neck. Even as Blink winced, uncooperatively, Mush told himself that he was an actor and had to sell it. So he tried to look pleased and excited as, holding Blink firmly in place, he pressed his lips to his best friend's mouth. Selling it also meant that not only did he actually have to kiss Blink, it couldn't be just a peck; he had to look like enjoyed it. So he opened his mouth and tried for tongue, though Blink was having none of that, and it only took him a few seconds to pull free. His single eye was wide, and he looked... well... traumatized.

Mush would deal with that later.

"See?!" Mush declared triumphantly.

Mondie and Trixie exchanged glances again, then broke into laughter. Behind him, he could hear snickering from the boys in his bunk. But he didn't really care too much.

"That was possibly the cutest, fakest thing I have ever seen," Mondie declared, and glanced at Trixie.

"You pretended to be gay to spare our feelings! Oh, Mushy, you really do care!"

Mush blinked once, staring, then let out a long, primal scream of frustration. He pivoted and dashed for the boys' section of camp. Blink, yelling, "What the hell was that?!" was only seconds behind him. And as they disappeared, everyone who had been diligently trying not to laugh gave up, and the laughter floated after them.

When they could breath again through the giggles, Trixie said to Mondie, "All I expected from the fake crying was a guilty apology! Man, that was... that was..." Then she started giggling again.

"That was fake?" David asked, somehow finding it even funnier knowing that.

"Totally fake," Mondie confirmed. "Mush isn't the only one who can act, you know."

Trixie nudged her. "Come on, let's go claim a place at the fire. We should save room between us for Mush... and his boyfriend. Oh, man..."

They snickered to themselves as they walked off, and left the remaining boysDavid, Race, Snitch, and Skitteryalone to wander up to their bunk. There was a sudden shout ahead of them, so presumably Blink had caught up with Mush and cornered him somewhere. "Oh, man, that's the funniest thing I have ever, ever seen," Snitch enthused, as they started walking again.

"Hey, Mouth," Skittery said, almost casually. "Speaking of gay guys and the closet..."

"Were we speaking of those?"

"I think it was implied when Mush tried to make out with Blink." Skittery cleared his throat. "Look, uh, we've all heard some rumors about you and Jack, I'm just the only one blunt enough to say anything about it."

"So say something," David said flatly, the good mood abruptly killed.

"Well, uh... you and Jack?" Skittery asked, maybe not as blunt as he'd thought.

"Me and Jack what?" David repeated, feeling no urge to make awkward questioning any easier.

"Well, I mean... there are a lot of rumors, but everyone says, basically, that you two were... together."

"Funny, no one's said anything to me about it," David said.

"You didn't talk to anyone for days after Jack left, no one's said anything to you. But you and Jack were definitely friends... and you were upset when he left... and he's written to you every day," Skittery pried. "So?"

"So?" David said. "If it were any of your business, I'd have told you. Would you care if I was gay, anyway?"

"No," Skittery said. "It's just... You and Jack. I mean, that's... I just wouldn't have figured. But, uh, you know. Snitch and I were talking, and we figured, like..."

"Like," Snitch said, "whatever happened, you seem to be having a tough time. And, you know, whatever. We're here for you, man. Gay, straight, confused, traumatized by Mush laying a big ol' wet one on Blink, whatever." He slung a friendly arm around David's shoulder. "Come on, let's get our stuff and get back to the fire before we miss Dutchy playing guitar."

"Dutchy's off tonight," Race reminded him.

"Darn it! Anyway, yeah, get our stuff and" Another yell came from in front of them. "and rescue Mush," Snitch finished.

David laughed a little. "Sneakers put you guys up to that speech, didn't he?"

"Yep," Snitch said.

"The sentiment is all true, though, Mouth," Skittery added.

David blinked, then glanced at Race, who was grinning. Probably for a variety of reasons, David mused. But he kept walking, Snitch's arm still around his shoulder, and finally said, "Thanks."


	37. Accidents Happen

> Dear Jack,
> 
> Since I suspect you played a part in Sneakers' nefarious plan to drag me out of bed and back into the larger world of camp, you get to hear all about what's going on, whether you want to or not. Pay attention; there will be a quiz. So there.
> 
> So last night, Mush flipped his lid and kissed Blink. He's not gay, he did it to try and get girls off his back, but boy did that backfire. It turns out that the only thing Modie and Trixie love more than a theater boy is a homoerotic theater boy. Kind of makes me glad I'm in the closet.
> 
> (Well, actually, I think everyone knows. My alleged straightness is really just a polite fiction at this point. Everyone knows but since I don't talk about it, neither do they. I think they're afraid I might flip out or something.)
> 
> Things between Blink and Mush are...strained. They have a lot of conversations like this:
> 
> Mush: Can you pass the ketchup?
> 
>  
> 
> Blink: I'm NOT GAY, stop looking at me!
> 
>  
> 
> Mush: No one thinks you're gay.
> 
>  
> 
> Blink: Good, because I'm NOT! (at this point they shoot awkward looks at me) Not that there's anything wrong with being gay.
> 
>  
> 
> Mush: Oh, god no. But we're not gay.
> 
>  
> 
> Blink: You're kind of gay. You kissed me.
> 
>  
> 
> Mush: Do we have to keep bringing that up?
> 
> Hilarity.
> 
> They seem to have reached an agreement for forgiveness, pending a win in the upcoming sailing race. Mush has agreed to not do camper counselor tennis, so he can partner with Blink in the race. Mush had wanted to be in the tennis competition, but this way Blink will get off his back...as long as they win. I'm pretty sure that if Smurf wins, Blink will spontaneously explode though, so maybe it won't matter.
> 
> As for Smurf, she finds the whole thing with Mush and Blink even funnier than I do, and that's saying something. I think she'd be with Trixie in the 'gay boys are sooooo awesome' boat, but in order to admit she likes the idea of Mush and Blink kissing, she'd have to admit that she doesn't find Blink utterly repulsive. Though at this point basically everyone except for Blink has picked up on the fact that she finds him repulsive in that same way that I'm attracted to girls: not at all. But until she admits to that, the rest of us will likely continue to be subjected to round after round of you're-short-yeah-well-you're-stupid. Remind me again why you wanted me to leave the cabin?
> 
> So there's that. Yet, despite the whole shebang, Midsummer went off without a hitch. In fact, it went well enough that my protege decided she might consider doing the last show, too.
> 
> Have I mentioned her yet? Her name is Worm and she's thirteen. She's sour and sarcastic and she's here because her parents think she's too antisocial, so they shipped her off to camp for half the summer. When she found out I was here for the same reason, she kind of...latched on to me. I don't know how to deal with that. I've never been the more socially adjusted person in any given friendship. And she kind of...follows me around. I have absolutely no idea why, and frankly, it's a little bizarre.
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I'll talk to Medda about stage managing the big show (which, by the way, will be _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat&lt;.i&gt;) instead of trying out. I'm not really in the mood to have people pay attention to me at the moment. I've had quite enough of people gaping at me in the last week, I don't need any more of it. Especially not if it's because of my _stellar_ dancing abilities._
> 
> Well, it's just about time for lunch, so let me leave you with the afore mentioned quiz.
> 
> Q: Which makes me the most irritated?
> 
>  
> 
> A: Smurf and Blink yelling at each other;
> 
>  
> 
> B: Sneakers' continued insistence on being my buddy;
> 
>  
> 
> C: Everyone trying to convince me to talk about what happened;
> 
>  
> 
> or
> 
>  
> 
> D: You being gone.
> 
> Yours,
> 
>  
> 
> Davey
> 
> (PS: While E, All of the above, is also acceptable, the correct answer is D. See you in a week, miss you lots.)

David sealed the letter and pressed on a stamp. There was a large box in the dining hall for campers to drop letters into, which meant it was convenient for him to finish writing before a meal. Especially since some of the boys in his bunk were more prone to snooping than others, and he didn't want to leave around any confessions of his relationship with Jack. Not so much because he was shy about coming out to his bunkmates; they'd all made it more than clear that they would support him. But more because his relationship with Jack was so new, and had been interrupted so abruptly. He just wasn't ready to share yet, even though he was sure that made him crazy and neurotic, and wouldn't make sense to anyone else.

As the group trooped out to head to the dining hall, several minutes before the third bell, he found himself sandwiched between Mush and Skittery. "So... would that be a letter to Jack?" Skittery asked.

"So, would that be your over-investment in my life again?" David responded.

Skittery shrugged. "You call it over-investment, I call it healthy interest. Same difference."

"Oh, lay off him," Mush said. "If he doesn't want to admit that he and Jack had _the_ torrid love affair of the summer, which everyone is talking about even if he won't say a word, and he's just too selfish to share details, that's up to him."

"Oh, yes, silly me." Skittery rolled his eyes.

"So instead of asking David for the nine-hundredth time," Mush continued dramatically, "I will change the subject. David, try outs for _Joseph_ are this afternoon."

"And seriously, you think _I'm_ the gay one?"

"Yes," Mush said simply. "Anyway, what role do you want?"

David shrugged. "I was thinking instead of trying out, I'd do tech or something."

"Okay, well, you can tell that to Medda," Mush agreed. "She'll cast you, regardless. You know that, right?"

"What?"

He chuckled. "Medda has spent the whole summer planning this. Every final show she does is _the_ greatest music-_cal_ she has ever produced. Off-Broadway, anyway. Which means she's been pre-casting everyone all summer, based on past performances. Which means that even if you don't try out, if she wants you in the show, she'll put you   
in the show. Regardless of auditions."

"But I can refuse, right?"

"Well, you can try," Mush said. "But you know what she's like. I'm not sure I'd be that brave, personally."

"But then, you haven't had to weather a tragic gay love affair ending with someone's shameful but so fascinating firing over the summer," Skittery said. "So clearly, David's far more worldly."

"Would you both shut up?" David sighed.

"So you don't deny it?" Mush asked.

"You know, you two spend an almost absurd amount of time fantasizing about my love life," David said, as they waited for the final bell.

David's table this week was surprisingly calm, luckily. None of his good friends were around, though by this late in the summer, he at least recognized all of the campers who were there. He glanced around for his bunkmates. Skittery was at the Higgins's table, and Race, after his fight with his parents, no longer was. (He was completely okay with that, and his mother only grumbled but didn't actually seem mad about it.) Mush and Snitch were in tables at the back that David could barely see from where he was. Sneakers was presiding over one of the tables by the large back windows. And Blink was a few tables away, in the middle. But apparently due to terrible planning on someone's part, he was back-to-back with Smurf, at the next table.

Considering the final sailing race of the summer was only a couple of days away, that seemed like a remarkably stupid idea to David. But then, no one asked his opinion (and he was surprised that there hadn't been any food thrown between tables yet). But his suspicions were, at least in part, justified by the end of the meal.

As everyone was beginning to file out, Mush caught up with Blink. "I don't know if I'll be able to practice with you this afternoon," he said quietly.

Blink glowered at him. "What? Why not?"

"I have to audition for the show!" He shrugged. "I already know how to sail, and besides, we've done it together a million times"

"I'll bet you have."

They both turned to see Smurf and Trixie watching them, smirking. Well, Trixie was giggling, but Smurf was smirking.

Blink shoved Mush, who looked momentarily pained but not too surprised. "I'm not gay." Blink scowled right back at her.

"Mm-hmm." Smurf raised an eyebrow. "Well, we'll just let you continue with your lover's spat, and go prepare to beat you into the ground in the race."

Blink growled something and shoved Mush again. "Hey, let it go!" Mush snapped. "Come on, you have to expect a little teasing."

"No one teases _you_. And it wasn't my idea! I didn't exactly sign up for this!"

"Aw, but how could he resist?" Smurf asked. She reached forward and pinched Blink's cheek, to his very obvious annoyance. "Cutie that you are." Then she burst into laughter. "Oh, man, I'm hilarious! But seriously, Mush, why him? I mean, why not Davidwho's passably cute and probably actually gay?"

David rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, wait!" Blink yelped, turning on Mush. "Why _me_?!"

Mush shrugged guiltlessly. "You were closest."

Blink scowled. "You so owe me."

"I know, I know!" They began to hurry off, leaving Smurf and Trixie thoroughly amused behind them. "Look, I'll try to get down to the beach as soon as my audition's done, okay?"

David glanced at Smurf and Trixie.

"This is so never getting old," Smurf said, grinning.

*

David sat in the theater, his chin in his hand. He really didn't feel like auditioning. He'd tried to explain that to Mush, who hadn't understood at all; and he'd tried to explain that to Medda, who'd laughed and made him sneeze by dangling her feather boa in front of his nose, like he was a cat or something.

Worm plopped down on the bench next to him. "What part do you want?" she asked.

"Me?" David shrugged. He still found it odd that she would seek him out so often. "I don't know. I guess just something in the chorus or whatever."

"Really?" She looked surprised. "I thought everyone wanted to be the star."

"I don't. I still get nervous when everyone looks at me."

"Mmm." Worm nodded. "That's too bad. You're a pretty good actor. But I bet Mush gets Joseph. I mean, it's his last summer. And I guess he's pretty good."

"Yeah, probably," David agreed. He hoped so, actually. Mush deserved one of the best parts, and would definitely be better at carrying the show than anyone else.

"Okay, David," Medda declared, walking up to him briskly. "I want you to go over and sing with Stage; let's hear what you can do, hm?"

He tried to give her his best puppy dog eyes. "You know, I was thinking, with a show this size, you'll really need a pretty devoted stage manager, and"

"Yes, you're right." She smiled widely. "Worm, my darling? How would you feel about handling some back stage tech things? I'm happy to put you in the show as well, of course, but you seem like the organized, managerial type."

"Um..." Worm glanced at David.

"Actually, I was thinking I" he started.

"Hush, now." She ignored David. "What do you think, honey?"

"Um..." Worm repeated. "Well, I guess. Actually, that sounds pretty cool."

"_Tres bien_!" Medda declared. "David, go sing."

"But I"

"David." Her voice dropped an octave and David stood almost against his will.

"Yes, ma'am."

So that was what Mush had meant. He'd almost forgotten how terrifying she was.

*

"So." Medda glanced around at the circle of counselors gathered in the theater. She had a notebook open in front of her, with each of the major parts listed, as well as long spaces for the chorus and minor characters. She also had a long list of all the campers who had auditioned, and several who hadn't but had agreed to participate, as long as she didn't pull them away from other activities for too long. "I think the big question is, who should play Joseph?"

"I'd think that's easy," Maverick answered. "I mean, Mush. He's been coming here for years, he's been in every show, he's a good actor, who else could we cast?"

"Actually, I was thinking Mush might make a _splendid_ Jacob," Medda said cheerfully.

Maverick blinked. "Well, yeah, he'd be good at wherever we put him. But if he's not Joseph, then who...?"

"Well, I was thinking, perhaps our very own skinny, neurotic, young Jewish boy?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Who? ...Wait, David?" Maverick asked.

"Mmmhmmm." Medda folded her hands in her lap, serene. "I think he's a natural fit. Any thoughts?"

"I have one," Bumlets muttered. "That kidand he's a nice kid, kind of, don't get me wrongcan not dance. And there's no way to choreograph a two act musical around a lead who doesn't dance."

"Now, Alec, dear," Medda said. "I'm sure you can do something with him."

"I really don't think"

"Now, now. You underestimate yourself."

Bumlets scowled. "You also said I'm supposed to put together some kind of dance showcase. It would be stretching _enough_ to get that going while I'm also doing the show, but honestly, with David as Joseph..."

"Well." Medda gestured dismissively. "Stage and I will absolutely help you with the choreography and helping the actors learn it, so you can have the free time to work with Davidand on your showcase, of course. We'll leave Maverick to deal with a lot of the acting, and get Specs to assist him whenever he has time. It'll be fine." She glanced at Maverick and raised an eyebrow. "Won't it?"

"Why do I get the feeling you've already made up your mind, and it doesn't matter what we answer?"

"Now, dear, you're just paranoid. I'll write down David, then." Which she did, with remarkably florid handwriting.

*

David had to admit that he was reluctant to even look at the cast list, when it went up after dinner. He wasn't worried about what part he was going to get, so much as he just didn't care. He was resigned to be in the show, instead of behind the scenes, since Medda clearly wasn't going to give him a choice. It was just a question of what he'd be doing.

Everyone who had auditioned surged around him. He heard people commenting to each other about what he'd expected: don't worry about it if you got a bad part, you're very talented, the seniors _always_ get the best roles. Every time he heard it, he felt a little worse. He didn't even _want_ a good role.

"David!" Trixie's voice cut through the noise, silencing almost everyone. David had to admit, she had lung power. It made him even more glad she hadn't latched on to him.

"What?" he asked, still trying to press forward.

"You're Joseph!"

"I what?" It didn't even register.

"Joseph! You're Joseph!"

And then he understood what she meant. He was Joseph. The lead. The single most important character in the show.

Well, he hadn't expected _that_.

"Just read it!" someone yelled from the back, sounding impatient. Trixie seemed to think that was a good idea. She shoved people back out of her way and cleared her throat.

"O-_kay_, listen _up_!" she called, sounding almost freakishly like a younger Medda. David listened, curious as to who his friends would be. He wasn't at all surprised that Mush was Jacob, the second largest male part in the showat least, not now that he knew Mush wouldn't be Joseph. That part had barely sunk in. The part of the Narrator, the female character who sang all of the story's narrationpossibly a more major character than Joseph, though David wasn't really surewas split between Mayfly and Mondie. David was pretty sure Trixie was slightly upset about that, but her voice perked right up when she read out that she was playing Potiphar's Wife and one of the lead chorus members. It wasn't a major role, but it was definitely a noticeable one. Most of the boys of Pentland and Ferguson had been stuck in as Joseph's eleven brothers, though only a couple had real solos. David was surprised that Blink was one; he'd be singing the cowboy anthem, _One More Angel In Heaven_. Ian would be singing the _Benjamin Calypso_. Just about everyone else was a brother; the rest of the senior girls were wives, doubling as some of the smaller roles. Everyone who had auditioned was in the show somewhere, even if just in the chorus, and the little kids had their own section as the Kids' Chorus that started both acts of the show. The only role that wasn't announced was that of the Pharaoh, which was listed as To Be Announced.

"Mouth, man," Ian said on his way by, punching his shoulder. "Congrats!"

But somehow, David didn't really feel like he deserved it. He looked around and saw Mush hurrying up towards the cabin. It was possible he was just running away from the girls, but with Trixie reading the cast list and Mondie squealing over her part, he wasn't in much danger of being harangued. David accepted a few more congratulations as he hurried after Mush, calling for him to wait up.

"Hey, Dave," Mush said, finally slowing down as they approached the cabin. "Way to go."

"Mush, I didn't..." David hesitated. "I wasn't trying out for Joseph, you know that, right? It totally should be you."

Mush shrugged. "It's cool."

"You don't really sound like it's cool."

"Dave, I'm a surprisingly heterosexual theater diva. I'm insanely jealous." He shrugged. "But I know that's also totally irrational, so whatever."

"No, I..." David sighed. "I don't even want the stupid part."

"Why the hell not?"

"What?"

"I said, why the hell not? Everyone wants the lead. So either you're really a very weird guy, or you're lying to make me feel better, which I don't need or want, thanks."

"You hadn't figured out that I'm a very weird guy by now? Really?" David tried to smile, but he was sure it looked forced. Still, Mush gave him a forced smile in return. "Look, the thing is, I'm really sick of everyone staring at me already. I didn't want to make it worse by going on stage, you know?"

"We don't stare," Mush said, but he sounded guilty. David raised an eyebrow. "Well, not anymore. Anyway, if you'd just tell everyone what happened, I'm sure we'd all get over it."

"Yeah, still not going to." David shrugged. "All I'm saying is that I really didn't want to be the center of attention, and you're a way better actor than I am, so...I really do, seriously, wish you'd gotten the part."

Mush glanced at him, then said, "Thanks, David. And, uh, look at it like this. There's a big difference between people whispering and staring at you because you're the center of some big, juicy gossipwhich would go away if you'd just own up to it, already, by the way. But anyway. That's different than being on stage and having people applaud and stuff."

"I guess."

"Dude. I'm working hard not to be jealous, you have to try not to pout, and we'll be even, okay?" Mush said, sounding a little irritated.

David nodded quickly, feeling guilty. "Sure, right. Sorry."

"No big. I'll get over it. Besides, Jacob is still a pretty sweet role, right?"

"Yeah, definitely." David leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling. Finally he said, "You didn't hear it from me, but Jack has been out to Racetrack for a couple years now."

"Seriously? And he never told us?" Mush's eyes suddenly gleamed with the gossip. "You gonna tell me the rest of it?"

"Nope."

"Well..." Mush considered. "Fair enough. I have to go spread rumors now."

"Gossip," David accused, but he was laughing a little as he said it.

*

Rehearsals started the next morning, but Blink wasn't too concerned yet. He'd talked to Meddahe was glad to have a cool part in the show, but would be busy until after the race. It only meant losing one day, so she agreed to let him go for that day if he agreed to learn all the words to his solo. She even agreed to let Mush go for two precious hours in the morning, so they could practice together. Which was lucky for himTrixie hadn't bothered to do so, which meant that she and Smurf wouldn't get to practice again before the race the next day. Smurf didn't seem too concerned, though, and she even went to go hang out in the theater and start learning her chorus member part.

Blink smirked as he made his way to the beach that afternoon, telling himself again that beating Smurf was going to be sweet. He hoped she'd at least put up a fight. He was putting all this energy into practice, and she was barely bothering, and if she turned out to not even be close, he'd be _so_ disappointed.

When he got there, Irish was out with a group of the youngest kids, taking up almost all of the sailboats. Gunwale was in the camp's sole motor boat, a little thing that was meant for emergenciesit had the emergency equipment in it, anywaybut was actually mostly used so he could help out when there were a lot of people in the water. He could get back and forth from boat to boat much more quickly with the motor. And Dutchy was sitting in the sand, watching quietly.

"Hey, Dutch." Blink sat down. "What's up? Any boats left?"

"You could try canoeing for a change. Switch it up a little."

Blink gave him a look he hoped would translate was, 'What are you, crazy?' Dutchy sighed in response.

"Yep, there's one sailboat left. You have a partner?"

"Nah, Mush is doing theater stuff. I figure I'll just snag whoever's around."

"Cool. I should stay out heregive it a few minutes. If someone shows up, you guys take the thing. If not, I'll head out with you." He shrugged, hair falling out of his eyes.

Blink nodded and curled his toes, feeling the sand beneath him. He waited as patiently as he could at first, then less patiently. "Look, Dutchy" he said after what he felt was a fair amount of time, though it was really only about five minutes.

"Hey, hey!"

He winced, recognizing the voice as someone else jogged onto the beach.

"Dutchy, did I miss getting a boat? Does anyone need a partner?"

Blink groaned as Smurf came up behind him. She kicked some sand into his lap and he was pretty sure it was on purpose.

"You're in luck," Dutchy answered. "One sailboat left, and one guy waiting for a partner."

Blink stood, and he and Smurf stared at each other. Finally, she made a face. "Please tell me this is just a joke."

"Nope." Dutchy shrugged. "Look, you two..." He sighed. "Why don't you just take out the boat and try and enjoy yourselves? Like, sailing for fun instead of out of anger? Try the light side of the Force for once."

Smurf scowled and Blink blinked.

"Ught, _fine_," she finally said, breaking down first. "I'll go with him, but only if he promises not to be a jerk."

"Me, be a jerk? _You're_ the one who always starts everything!"

"Ha!" she snapped, even as they stomped off to prepare the boat. "You obviously don't know anything. You started everything!"

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "You kicked sand on me!"

"Not today." She rolled her eyes. "Always. Forever. Since the beginning. You started it."

"Whatever. I did not." He rolled his eye, though he honestly wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

They continued in silence for a couple of minutes, getting the boat prepped and into the water. Blink was ready with the rudder and Smurf with the sail ropes; he dropped it into place when the water was deep enough and made himself comfortable. She let the sail fill and did the same.

It was weird, sitting there with her. He gave her a strange look and then stared over at the waves. She was staring up at the sky.

"I've never seen you be quiet for so long before," he commented eventually.

"Shut up and tack." They were getting far away from the sailing group now, down the lake, and Gunwale was waving at them.

"Whatever," he snapped back, and reached for the rudder. "Tacking," he added as he yanked it to the around. The boat changed directions easily and they both ducked as the boom swung around. It knocked her bucket cap off and she scowled, turning to fish it out of the water. He laughed as she rang it out and dropped it on the bottom of the boat. The sail filled out again, and they began to make decent progress back towards the group of Irish and the kids.

As they made speedy progress towards the younger sailors, Smurf finally said, "So, you and Mush..."

"I don't want to hear it!"

"All I'm saying is that you're a cute couple. Really, it explains a lot of things."

"Like _what_?!"

"Your random hostility to young women."

"Who, _you_? I'm hostile to you because you're a psychotic little person whose sole hobby is insulting me."

"It's not my sole hobby, it's just my favorite." She paused to consider. "By the way, you're stupid."

"Real original, shorty."

"Hey, the material still works as long as you remain dumb. So we're looking at another eon or so."

Blink scowled. "I'm not as dumb as you think."

"Quick, genius, what's the square root of ten?"

"It's..." He frowned. "How the hell should I know?"

"You don't know because you're dumb," she said cheerfully.

"Fine, then, what is it?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"You don't even know, do you?" he snapped, irritated. He ran his hands through his hair and glowered.

"Of course I know." She tossed her hair, frizzy from the summer spent outdoors. "I'll have you know, I'm on my school's math team."

"Oh, _I_ get why you're so psycho," he said. "You're a geek. You resent how awesome I am."

"Excuse me?!"

"Only geeks are on math teams," he said. "So there you go."

"Right. That wasn't the part I didn't get. Allow me to clarify: you? Awesome? I don't think I can possibly laugh hard enough."

"I am quite, quite awesome!" he objected.

"No, an awesome guy would be able to count to ten without looking at his fingers."

"I can so!"

"Uh huh." She gave him a skeptical look, then glanced around. "We should get out of the way of the kids."

Blink saw the fleet of young sailors with Irish and agree. He shot Gunwale a wave in his motorboat, then took the rudder and steered around the group, out to deeper water. They didn't usually go so deep, kept to the relatively shallow section by the shore, but despite their bickering, Blink and Smurf were both experienced sailors, and it wasn't really dangerous anyway.

"Honest to god," Blink said, as they sped along, "I don't know why you even bother racing anymore. You haven't won in, like, two years. You're not going to suddenly win. And even if I hadn't known it before, I mean, man. You're a math geek. Ha!"

Smurf narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. "I'm a math geek, at least I'm not a jackass. And we'll see about the race tomorrow."

"Oh yeah. We totally will." Blink raised an eyebrow. "When you're eating my wake."

"Yeah, in your dreams!"

"Uh, let's see. I won the last race. I won the race before that. You know why?" he said. "It's because I'm _just better_."

"Oh, yeah, right." She turned away from him angrily, facing out towards the lake. She glanced over her shoulder for long enough to say, "But thanks for saying sothat'll make it even sweeter when I win. You have no idea how much it'll mean to me."

Blink opened his mouth to answer, but saw now they were in sight of the swimming docks. One of the counselors waved him away, and he nodded and reached for the rudder. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that," he said, pulling the rudder around, "when I w"

Blink stopped speaking abruptly when he heard the noise. It was a full, dull thud, so solid he could almost feel it. He turned quickly and saw what happened. He hadn't warned he was tacking, the boat had shifted direction, the boom had swung around like it was supposed to, and when Smurf hadn't ducked under it, it had clocked her.

"Smurf!"

He struggled around the sail, which was now swinging more wildly, and looked for her. She was lying on her stomach on the flat edge of the boat. Her glasses had been knocked clean off, onto the bottom of the boat. And there was blood.

It took a second for him to process the sight. He dove for the rudder again, panicked, and tried to straighten the boat as he began to yell. Not sure if he was closer to the sailors or to the swimmers, he just gestured frantically and screamed: "Someonesomeone help! I need help! _Help me_!"

His voice broke and he felt the acrid taste of adrenaline and fear in the back of his mouth. It felt peculiar, like he was watching himself move and hearing himself scream, but it didn't feel like he was doing any of it. Instead, it was like he was looking down on the sight of a small, turbulent sailboat, a panicked camper screaming and a young woman unconscious.

And then there was Gunwale in his motorboat, a radio in hand. He didn't even stop to ask questions, just yelled into the radio for Triage and an ambulance. Then he hesitatedmoving Smurf was dangerous, but so was the sailboat. "Get the sail down, loose," he decided quickly. Blink hurried to do it, the actions mechanical. Gunwale grabbed a rope and secured the now-drifting sail-less boat to the motorboat and pulled him in, towards the sailing beach. By the time they were there, Triage had arrived and she and Dutchy were ready with a backboard. Under Triage's direction, they got Smurf moved onto it.

She came to as they were moving the board. "What...my head hurts." Her voice sounded dazed.

"Yes, dear," Triage said. "You got hit pretty hard."

"What happened?"

"Don't worry, we're just going to get you checked out at a hospital. You'll be fine."

"Oh." Smurf paused, then said, "My...My head hurts."

"It's going to be okay, honey," Triage said.

The ambulance arrived. Blink just stared as they loaded the backboard onto a stretcher into it. Triage went with them. And Blink was left standing in the sand.

"You okay?"

He was pretty sure Dutchy's two-word question was the first thing anyone had said to him. "I don't...we were just...I didn't mean for it to happen. I just, I, is she..."

Dutchy put a hand on his shoulder. "No one blames you. Accidents happen."

"Is she okay?"

"Triage said she's almost definitely got a concussion. They're going to go do a CT scan and make sure it's nothing worse than that. She'll probably be fine."

"She..." He didn't even know what to say. "We were fighting."

"What else is new?" Dutchy shrugged. "Look, Blink, like I said. Accidents happen."

"I didn't..."

"I know." Dutchy nudged him to begin walking. "How about we go up to the infirmary and you lie down, okay? I think you're in shock a little."

"I'm not...I was fine."

"Seeing blood is pretty scary. You sound really shaken, is all I'm saying. When you're back on your feet, we'll need to talk to you about the details...but like I said, again, no one blames you. Accidents happen."

"Okay."

But it didn't feel okay at all. Even if no one else blamed him, even if it was just an accident, he was the one who'd forgotten to signal he was tacking. He'd been too busy smirking and fighting with her...and now she was in the hospital.

It definitely wasn't okay.


	38. Revelation

Blink spent the next few hours lying in a bed in the infirmary, but at best he dozed fitfully. Mostly he rolled over and over, unable to get his brain to quiet down. It just kept regurgitating the same thought over and over, spitting out images of Smurf unconscious in the boat, of the blood pooled around her. He heard her voice in his mind, weakly asking what had happened, why her head hurt.

She had a concussion, probably. Dutchy had said that. But what if it was worse than that? What if it was something really wrong, like brain damage? She could have _died..._

"Blink?" Dutchy let himself into the tiny infirmary room. He was holding a clipboard.

"Hey."

"So. Um. I just need to ask you a few questions for this...incident report."

Incident report. Like almost killing someone was some minor thing. Blink took a deep breath. "'Kay," he mumbled.

"It just, um...did you see it?"

Blink shook his head no. "I was looking the other way. I heard it, though." He told Dutchy what he remembered, which was everythinghe doubted he'd ever be able to forget it. Dutchy jotted down notes and finally said, "Okay, uh, thanks."

"So..." Blink hesitated. "What...do you know if she's..."

"Yeah, yeah. Triage called. Um, yeah. Smurf has a concussion. It's...well, not too bad. The hospital is keeping her for observation for awhile, but Triage says she'll be fine. They'll be back tonight, she'll be staying in the infirmary overnight."

A very slight weight lifted from Blink's shoulders. He almost felt like he could breathe again. "Will she be okay in time for the race?" he asked, hoping Dutchy realized he wasn't asking because he wanted to race her. He asked because he knew how important the race was to Smurf. If she missed it...

"Well," Dutchy said. "Um, the thing is, she...Well, she can't sail for the rest of the summer. She's got stitches, so no water activities," he said.

The weight settled back onto Blink, like something heavy falling onto his chest. He felt like the air was crushed out of him. "Oh," he finally said.

Dutchy hesitated. "It's not your fault," he finally said.

Blink nodded like he understood, but actually he just wanted Dutchy to leave. He knew Dutchy would just keeping telling him that, but he didn't want to hear it. He knew full well whose part it had been.

And now she couldn't sail. Smurf was never going to forgive him.

*

Bumlets snapped his fingers in time to the beat, counting one through eight. David just stared at him. "It's step step turn kick turn kick step pose," he said tiredly. "In five-six-seven-eight..."

David managed to trip over his own foot, then turned the wrong way and walked into Mondie.

Bumlets groaned. "Dave. You're a smart kid. I _know_ you can count to eight."

"Yeah, but not if I move my feet at the same time!"

Bumlets stared at him. David stared back plaintively.

"Okay...from the top," Bumlets finally said.

*

It was almost midnight when Smurf got back from the hospital. She was tired; she had been since the accident. Her head also ached, but the doctors said that was okaythe concussion wasn't bad, she shouldn't have any lasting problems from it, and they'd given her a prescription-strength painkiller. It was almost time for her next dose, which was just as well; it made her sleepy, so she'd take it and go to bedin the infirmary, at Triage's insistence.

Paint appeared at the infirmary a few minutes after they pulled in, with Smurf's pajamas, toothbrush, and hairbrush in tow. "How you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I got hit by a truck," Smurf answered. She threw herself down on one of the bunks. "This _sucks."_

Paint cleared her throat. "It really does. Everyone has been worried about you all day. Rotten timing, too."

"No kidding. The _race_..." she groaned. "And it's my last summer!"

Paint took a deep breath. "Smurf, you, um, have a visitor. Speaking of the race."

"What?"

"When you guys pulled in, I heard on the radio and...well." Paint stood aside and opened the door to the infirmary again. Blink stood outside, with Sneakers right behind him; Paint stepped out and he stepped in. And just stared at her for a long time, and finally shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry," he eventually said. "II'm sorry. It was an accident. I..."

She scowled a little. "Go away."

"Smurf, please." He sounded a little strangled. "I didn't mean for it to happen! It was really, really an accident."

"I _know_ that." She gritted her teeth. "I do, I justI can't sail or swim or anything for the rest of the summer, okay, and it sucks, so just _go away."_

"I will, I just..." He trailed off. "I needed to tell you that. And tha sorry. And, and I know I've been a real jerk to you this summer"

"_This_ summer?" she interrupted.

"Um, been a real jerk to you," he said quickly, and stared at his feet. Finally, he added, "Is there...I'm not saying you should, but is there any way you could forgive me?"

She shut her eyes. "Nothing springs to mind. Would you just go away?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he turned around. She didn't open her eyes until she heard the door shut, then she rolled over and groaned. He had definitely looked sorry, and she even believed it. But it didn't matter. Her summer was ruined, she was never going to get her last shot to beat him in the race, and no matter how sorry he was, that wouldn't change.

*

Blink dragged his feet on the way down to the beach. Even the thought of sailingand the fact that there was no way he'd lose the racewasn't enough to cheer him up. Mush slapped his shoulder. "Chin up. This is it, right?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it down on the sand. They walked over to one of the boats to wait, while the other teams got ready and viewers walked up to watch. Triage was there with a first aid kit, but Smurf wasn't. "One sec," he said to Mush, and hurried over to her. "Um...hey, Triage, how's Smurf?"

"She's doing fine." Triage smiled kindly. "She was well enough to come out for the race, actually."

"Then where is she?"

"She didn't want to." Triage shrugged. "I said if she wanted to rest for another few hours, that was fine."

He nodded. "Thanks," he mumbled, and walked back to Mush.

"Ready?" Mush asked, as the counselors in canoes paddled out to mark the edges of the course.

"Yeah."

"You seem kinda down." He raised an eyebrow. "I could kiss you and make it all better...?" Blink shoved him and he stumbled back a few steps, but Blink didn't even crack a smile. "Seriously, I know you got freaked out yesterday, but it's going to be okay. Smurf is fine."

"I know she is! I didn't freak out. I just feel bad...like, what's even the point of racing? We know we're going to win." He glanced over at the other contestants, some of whom he was sure had overheard the comment, but no one looked too offended. It was pretty much a given. "Kind of takes the fun out of it."

"Then why are you bothering?" Mush asked.

Blink started to answer, then stopped and blinked.

*

Smurf really was trying to sleep, but it wasn't easy. She'd been able to hear the sound of the air horn, signaling the beginning of each race. Big kids, middle, little kids. She could even hear some of the shrieking and cheering. It was probably a great time.

The yelling eventually died down, and the first bell rang for the late brunch. Smurf sighed and thought about going...she was a little hungry, and not too exhausted. And she had to ask Medda if she could help out with the showbackstage or something. Since she couldn't swim or sail, there wasn't much else she really wanted to do.

It was going to be a long week.

"Uh...hello?"

Blink's voice rang through the infirmary. She sat up and glanced down at her pajamas, a tank top and shorts to sleep in. Then, as Blink walked into her room, she pulled her sheet up to her shoulders.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi." She scowled. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to see how you are."

"Well, I'm fine."

"Good. Cool." He shrugged. "So..."

"Look, if you're going to gloat, would you just get it over with and leave me alone?" she demanded.

"I'm not here to gloat," he said. "I didn't win."

"What? Did you throw the race or something?" She rolled her eyes.

"I didn't race."

Smurf opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again, as she had no idea what to say.

"Don't look so shocked," Blink mumbled. "I mean, maybe I'm kind of mean to you, but you make racing fun. No point without you." He shrugged awkwardly, and she could swear he was blushing.

"Oh."

"Anyway, um, Spot won. I figured you'd want to know."

"Yeah, thanks."

"And I'm sorry," he said.

And she meant it when she said, "It's okay. It wasn't your fault. Just a stupid accident. And, um...it was really kind of nice of you to not, you know...race."

And if she wasn't mistaken, he cracked a tiny smile.

*

Memorizing things had always been one of David's skills. Which was a good thing, because with only a week to get the entire show ready to go, he had only been given 24 hours from the posting of the cast list to learn all of the songs. That time was now up, but thanks to his overachieving memory and having been loaned a copy of the show's cast recording and a portable CD player, David felt like he was doing okay with learning the words.

That was good. He was even able to sing it aloud the way he heard it, mostly, which meant he was almost always hitting the correct notes and not changing keys at random, unlike some of the cast members. But as soon as they moved from singing around the piano or sitting on benches up to the stage...

Bumlets took David aside before the afternoon's choreography rehearsal. "Um, okay...I'm a first-year counselor, so I'm not great at this yet."

"At what, choreographing?"

"No, I'm okay at that. It's, um, reassuring pep talks I kind of fail at. Let's see, Dave, you...well, you have a great voice. But, um..."

David held up a hand. "I can't dance, Bumlets. It's okay. I'm not offended."

"Okay, thank god." Bumlets took a deep breath. "My plan thus far is to choreograph _around_ you as much as possible. So you can stand there and sing and everyone else moves. When there's no way around it, I'll keep it as simple as possible, okay?"

David nodded. "Sounds good to me."

But somehow, he wasn't reassured. Still, they stepped onto the stage and he tried to stand up straight. Counting slowly to sixteen over and over again, Bumlets showed the group the first big number. And true to his word, after his initial entrance, David spend most of the song, in Bumlets's words, "Standing there, looking prissy." Which was a good description of the characterJoseph was, well, kind of prissy. If the musical was a fair representation, David didn't entirely blame the brothers for not liking him.

As he stood there, Mayfly (who was singing the opening song) and Mush got to do some pretty cool dance moves, mimicked by the campers playing the brothers and their wives behind them. And when it got to the section where the coat for which the show was named was brought on, David got to go from standing to walking, and was proud to say that he could, at least, walk in time to the beat. He didn't trip or anything.

He did forget to sing his line as he walked, though. Medda stopped the piano abruptly, and Bumlets rolled his eyes.

David took a deep breath. It was going to be a long week.

*

"Hey, Blink, wait up!"

Blink slowed down on his way out of the theater. He was planning to hike up to his bunk through the center of camp; it would take him right past the tennis courts, and he'd heard from Trixie that now that she couldn't sail or swim, Smurf was playing tennis a lot. He just kind of wanted to see that she was okayof course he knew she was, as she'd been allowed out of the infirmary, and Triage and Dutchy had both told him it was only a very minor concussion and there would be no complications to it. But still, she'd looked awfully shaken and upset, even that morning. So he wanted to see.

Mayfly jogged up behind him, red highlights gleaming in the sun.

"What's up?" he asked, and began meandering back towards the middle of camp.

"Not much. Just, they're going to announce the dance at dinner tonight. I heard Stage talking about it, how they'll have to make sure the flats are all painted beforehand."

"Cool."

"Anyway, I was thinking, we should totally go together." She gave his arm a friendly punch. "I mean, I heard about your little disaster last session."

He thought back on Smurf and the dance, which had ended up a little disastrous, and then the prank and its aftermath... Yep, disaster. "It kind of was," he agreed.

"That's what I'm saying. Anyway, we get along okay, so why not go as friends?" She grinned.

"Sure," he agreed. After all, it was nice to have some sort of date, and the only girl at camp he'd had a crush on, Sarah, had not only left camp, but had totally rejected him. He definitely didn't want to ask anyone and end up dealing with that again, and he and Mayfly got along fine.

"Cool." She smiled. "See you at dinner!" She waved and turned to hurry off.

He shrugged and kept going towards the tennis courts, which quickly came into view. Sure enough, Smurf was smacking a ball around against Volley, the brown-haired tennis counselor. Blink hesitated, watching, and after a minute Volley motioned Smurf aside so another camper could come take her place. She jogged to the side of the court, picked up a water bottle and put down her tennis racket. He wandered over slowly and she looked up.

"Hey," he said hesitantly.

"Hi," she answered, and took a drink of water.

"Um...how's your head?"

She shrugged. He could see the bandages on the side of her head, right under her hairline. "Okay, I guess. You been to sailing today?"

"Nah. Been in the theater all day."

"Yeah, I'll be there this afternoon. I guess I'm in the chorus and doing some crew stuff."

"Cool." He smiled; it was a little forced, but not unfriendly.

"Um, hey." She picked up her racket and ducked out of the tennis area. "'Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." They began to walk, no longer towards the boys' section of camp, just up the field. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to, uh, clear something up. Um, since it was pretty cool that you...skipped out on the race and all, I just wanted us to be even. So, uh...about that prank this summer. You know, with Daisy."

"Smurf, I'm really sorry"

"Yeah, I know." She sighed and took another drink of water, then capped the bottle. "I figured you'd want to know. I said a lot of stuff about my grandmother, and..." She took a deep breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, all the parts of what I said are true. My grandmother gave me the doll, and she taught me to sail, and she died when I was a kid. But I kind of overstated everything when I told you about it...to make you feel guilty." She hesitated. "Her giving me the doll wasn't a big deal, there wasn't a real sob story or anything."

"Why did you do that?" he asked, shocked. "I felt so bad!"

"That was why! I still had Mrs. Higgins breathing down my neck from the prank on Sarah, there was no way I'd be able to get you back, so..." She shrugged.

He stared at her and she bit her lip. But finally he said, "You think pretty fast on your feet."

"Yeah, I'm a genius."

"Or, as most people would call it, a geek." But he grinned as he said it, then held out a hand.

She stared at it.

"Um, so I was thinking, like, you know how last session at the dance we declared a truce? Maybe we should do that again," he said. "So I don't accidentally almost kill you again or anything."

She blinked, then shifted her water bottle to her other hand and shook his hand quickly. "Yeah, no almost killing me. That sucked."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Well...see you."

She nodded and turned to walk off towards the girls' side of camp, and he headed back to his own bunk, wondering why he wasn't mad he'd spent so much time feeling bad about Daisy.

*

At breakfast Tuesday morning, Mrs. Higgins announced the last dance, which would take place Thursdaytwo nights away. Before it was done, all the flats for the show had to be painted and dried, which meant getting to work on them quickly. Smurf volunteered; she was hardly an artist, but had the basic ability to paint within the lines, and so she spent most of the day sitting on grass, painting flats right outside the theater, with an ever-changing group of helpers, whoever happened to be around but not in the scene being rehearsed at that moment.

It was in the middle of the afternoon that Blink wandered out. He glanced around at the number of people already working on various flats, shrugged, and picked up a brush and began to fill in black between the grey bars Smurf was painting for the background in _Close Every Door To Me,_ when Joseph was in jail.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She glanced over at him. "How's it going in there?"

"Pretty well, I guess. We've got the whole opening section down, and I'm starting to kind of get my solo."

"Cool."

"Um...so what've you been up to?"

She gestured down at her outfit, a pair of shorts that had probably been pants at one point, judging by the ragged bottoms and threads hanging down, and a camp t-shirt. Her clothes and her shins were stained with paint. "They got Paint to come down and design the sets, and lucky me, I get to supervise seeing all of these things done by the end of the day."

He glanced around at the flats that had been laid out on the grass. "You seem to be doing a pretty good job. Though it looks like you got almost as much on your shirt asHey!" He sputtered as she flicked excess paint from her brush at him and grinned. "We have a truce!"

"Aw, come on. That wasn't mean, it was funny." She dipped her brush again and went back to painting. He grumbled but did the same. "So..." she finally said. "Where did you learn to sail?"

"My mom," Blink said. "Well, and my dad. When I was little we actually lived on a lake, so I just kind of grew up with it. My mom taught me all the knots and stuff, though."

"You don't live on a lake anymore?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "After she died, Dad kind of...I think it made him kind of sad. We moved to New York, but he figured I'd probably like to at least get the lake in the summer, which I do, so here I am."

Smurf blinked. "Your mom died? I mean, you don't need to tell me if you don't want"

"Yeah, when I was eight." He shrugged. "It was a car crash. I don't really remember it...it's what screwed up my eye, too."

"Huh?"

"My eye got..." He trailed off. "You know, the details are really gross. Anyway, I have a glass eye. And an eyepatch, because I hate the glass eye."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I mean..." She trailed off.

"It's okay. It was half my life ago, so...you know, aside from missing my mom sometimes I've kind of dealt with it."

She nodded. "I guess that's good. I mean, it's really awful that it happened, but it's good that...that you've dealt with it. I guess."

Blink actually chuckled. "Wow, I just made you really uncomfortable, huh?"

"No! No, I, um, I...Yeah, a little."

"Here, let me fix it." He flicked paint at her and grinned. "You're really short. There, back to normal!"

She laughed. "You're surprisingly tolerable when we have a truce on."

"Oh, gosh, thanks. You, too." He paused. "Actually, you really are. Like, why were even fighting to begin with?"

"You're joking, right?"

"What?"

She looked up from her painting and blinked at him. "You really don't remember?"

"No?" he answered, confused. "Was there a real reason? I just assumed we always kind of...you know, didn't get along."

"No, the reason was that you were a jerk."

"Hey, we've got a truce on!"

"I'm not saying it to be mean, I'm saying it because it's what happened," she answered. "We were friends. And then you decided to be a jerk."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed, though now that he thought about it, he did kind of remember being friends when she first got to camp. He was actually pretty sure they'd gone sailing together a bunch of times her first summer.

"No, I'm serious. We were friends until the first race," she explained. "And I won, and then Jack and Race and everyone made fun of you for being beat by a girl, and then you decided the way to handle it was to be a jerk to _me,_ so, you know...you suck."

He frowned. Okay, he did kind of remember that.

"And that's how this whole fight started?" he asked.

She nodded. "Well, I wasn't just going to take it, so when you didn't apologize..."

"Right. Okay, well...I'm sorry."

"Hey, no problem."

He glanced up at her and smiled a little bit. Smurf ducked her head, trying not to smile back.

*

"Soooooo," Trixie said, flopping down on her bed and looking over at Smurf. "When I stuck my head out of the theater this afternoon, you and Blink looked awful friendly."

"We have a truce on."

Arrow sat down on her bed, the other side of Smurf's. "Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Calling what?" Smurf asked, irritated.

"What we old-fashioned types would call a _crush_," Arrow said.

"Ha!" Smurf snapped. "Like I have a crush on Blink."

"Well, you do," Trixie said. "But more importantly, he has a total crush on you." She cackled. "He _loooooves_ you. He totally wants to _marry_ you."

"He does not!"

"No?" Arrow asked. "Then what were you two talking about all afternoon?"

"We didn't talk all afternoon, we talked for, like, not even an hour."

"About?"

"I dunno, just stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Like..." She lay back on her bed and spoke up into the air. "He talked about what happened with his mom and his eye and stuff."

"What happened?" Arrow asked.

"Uh...I guess he lost them both in a car crash," Smurf said. "I mean, I make fun of him and all, but considering that, I guess he's pretty well-adjusted or something."

"You loooooove him," Trixie sang.

"And he's telling you all about his tragic, angsty life because he wants you to kiss him and make it all better," Arrow agreed.

"You two are crazy!" Smurf snapped, and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow...Mostly so that no one could see her blushing. "And Blink doesn't like me," she added into her pillowcase. "And I _definitely_ don't like him."

Which was true. Basically. Pretty much.

*

Wednesday rehearsals were frequently interrupted by costuming. Medda had come up with basic designs, and Triage had a sewing machine, so she would appear and measure a few kids, then disappear; later, she'd show up clutching a hastily stitched together vest or pair of very basic pants. The crowing achievement of the morning was Joseph's coat, which was built on a white trenchcoat. First it had been tie-dyed, then Triage had sewn on numerous multi-colored strips of fabric as fringe. She had assumed it would look cool whenever David did a spin, but it hadn't taken long before Bumlets had put in place a strict "no spinning" rule for David. Much to David'sand everyone else on the stage'srelief.

By that afternoon, the other specialized costumes started appearing. The narrators both had nice dresses, though everyone else's was pretty basic with a few variations depending on character. Mush got a walking stick, Ian had some kind of palm leaves for the Calypso, and Blink received a cowboy hat and matching boots.

As she alternated between helping to put up flats and helping Triage with taking measurements and doing hand-sewing projects, Smurf silently noted that Blink's eyepatch kind of spoiled the cowboy effect. Otherwise, though, he kind of seemed a little too into it. "Howdy, little lady," he said in as deep a voice as he could manage, as he walked past her. Then he added, "Emphasis on the little."

She threw a tape measure at his head and noted, "Your impression of Jack is terrible."

He picked up the tape measure and handed it back to her, then said, "Yeah, I'm gonna see if David will help me with it. 'Cause we know how _familiar_ he and Jack were."

Smurf laughed. "You can actually kind of pull off the hat. If you ever want to be a stripper or join the Village People, you've got your character all ready to go."

He leered. "You want me to do a little strip tease?"

"I do!" Mayfly shouted from across the theater. They both looked up to see her shoot them a quick thumbs up.

Blink coughed and Smurf turned red. "No, I definitely do _not_."

"Yuh huh," he said, grinning. "Suuuure you don't."

"You suck." But she was giggling, which was kind of weird.

"_Okay, everyone! All brothers on stage!_" Medda's voice broke through the din of campers chattering, and Blink tipped his hat.

"That's my cue," he said, and practically swaggered up the stage. The girls all settled onto benches to wait for their next cue. Smurf found herself sitting with half-sewn costume in hand, a bench behind two of the other senior girlsZodiac and Lyr, two of the wives/chorus members.

The music for one of the early numbers started up, and the brothers took their places for the dance. Bumlets yelled directions from in front of the stage, sometimes demonstrating by dancing along.

Zodiac leaned over to Lyr. "They're looking pretty good at that. It's even better with the costumes."

"Yeah, the first act is going really well. Though..." She giggled. "Blink's eyepatch kind of spoils the effect."

"Yeah, I know. What's with it, anyway? I mean, it's kind of ridiculous."

Smurf cleared her throat and leaned forward. "It's kind of none of your business," she snapped "Besides, I think it looks cool," she added. Never mind what she'd thought a few minutes ago.

"Geeze," Zodiac muttered. "Aggressive, much? You must be an Aries."

Smurf rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she muttered.

It wasn't until the song on stage was almost done that she realized she'd been defending Blink. And that Blink probably didn't discuss the eyepatch with most people, since she'd never heard anything about it...it was just one of those things that everyone seemed used to at camp...But he had told her about it.

Which meant...maybe he trusted her or something? Or at least felt okay talking to her. Which did feel kind of good. And now that they were talking, they did get kind of...flirty. Sort of. A little. Was it flirting to joke about him being a stripper?

She tried not to groan out load.

It was definitely flirting, and he'd definitely flirted back. She looked up at the stage, where for some reason he was dancing arm-in-arm with Skittery, and just watched him for a second. Okay, so he was kind of big and blond and dumb...But also kind of sweet. He _had_ withdrawn from the race and had been really worried about her, after all. And she didn't totally _hate_ guys who were too tall for her, since everyone was too tall for her. And, well...she did kind of like blonds. And they both loved sailing and prank wars.

And Trixie and Arrow were right. She totally had a crush on Blink.

"Oh, _man_," she muttered aloud.


	39. Union and Reunion

"Hey, Race?" Blink asked nervously.

"Mmph?" Race swallowed his slightly-stale cookiean ill-gotten, non-camp gain won in the evening's poker gameand took a swig of coffee. "Yes?" he tried, after he swallowed.

"Uh, can I talk to you?"

Race shrugged. "Sure. The doctor is in, as Lucy Van Pelt would say."

"Great." Blink sat down on the bench next to him, but gazed around furtively. The seniors were mostly milling around the dining hall, everyone feeling almost a little desperate. After all, it was getting close to the end of camp. Race did a quick mental tally and realized there were only four nights left, including the current one, and no one was eager to leave.

A group of girls were getting ready to leave the dining hall for the evening, most of the girls from Murphy OneSlant, Swinger, Smurf, Arrow, and Trixie. Blink looked over at them and Smurf caught his eye and waved just a little. Race raised an eyebrow as Blink waved back, and cast a quick glance around the room. Someone less observant probably would have overlooked the fact that Mayfly was now scowling in Smurf's direction.

Interesting.

"How do you tell a girl you like her?"

Race smirked. "Well, in your case, everyone at the whole camp already knows. Asking her out would probably just work."

"I can't do that." Blink plunked his elbow down on the table so he could rest his hand in his chin. "And what do you mean, everyone knows? I haven't even told anyone yet."

"I'm sorry, is it not Smurf?"

Blink gave him a startled look. "I'm that obvious?"

"Ye-ahhhh," Race said. "But so's she, if that makes you feel any better."

"What? She likes me?"

"Um...and I mean this nicely, _duh_." Race rolled his eyes. "You two could not be any more obvious if you dipped her pigtails in an inkwell."

"What?"

"Never mind." Race shrugged. "The point is, Smurf isn't Sarah, and you can be pretty sure that if you ask her to go to the dance with you, or hang out or whatever, she'll say yes."

"You really think?"

"Yes, I really think."

"Awesome." Blink smiled, but then it faded. "Except I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I, um, kind of already told Mayfly I'd go with her. And I'd have to be some kind of jerk to go back on that."

"Yeah." Race nodded. "And you're not a jerk. Except to Smurf."

"And I'm not even a jerk to her anymore." Blink smiled again, and Race elbowed him.

"Man, you are _smitten_. You're grinning like an idiot every five seconds."

"I am not!" He paused, realizing that probably wasn't true. "Okay, it's just...like, with Sarah I knew she didn't really like me back. And Smurf...I dunno, just..."

"It's a lot different when she does likes you back?" Race suggested.

"Yeah."

"So what are you going to do?"

Blink groaned. "That's what I wanted to ask you. There's not some magic way to get out of a date with Mayfly so I can go out with Smurf that doesn't involve me being a huge jerk, is there?"

"Nothing springs to mind. But look, the dance is tomorrow, and after that you can ask Smurf whatever you want, right?"

"Right. Great. That'll give us two whole days before we go home," Blink sulked.

"It's better than nothing, right?"

"Right, but it still sucks. I can't believe we didn't figure this out years ago."

Race chuckled. "Well, even with all the hating, Smurf wasn't totally wrong. You aren't exactly the brightest crayon in the box."

"Hey!"

"To be fair, neither is she." Race smirked.

*

The only break David got from worrying about dancing was the first hour and a half in the morningBumlets had to put together a dance showcase, with a few kids from all age groups, as well as choreographing the show. He'd picked his group of dancers and they spent that time rehearsing to a song by some band David had never heard of.

He was kind of itching to get out of the theater, enough that he debated doing something insane like asking Blink to show him how to sail, or even risking the archery range again. After all, for the last few days he'd basically only left the theater to eat, sleep, and occasionally pee, as there was no bathroom in the theater. But after breakfast when he was about to ask Blink about sailing, Blink ran off to talk to Smurf, though their talking involved a lot of poking each other and laughing and blushing.

He scowled. Not that he wasn't reasonably pleased that Blink had somehow managed to work out that his relationship with Smurf was a cliché that all but necessitated them falling for each other, but every time he saw them awkwardly flirting and trying to pretend that wasn't what they were doing, all he could think about was when he and Jack had been awkwardly flirting and pretending the weren't. Though he hoped they'd been a lot more subtle about it.

David took a deep breath. Maybe not sailing, and he was still a little afraid of archery. He had rotten memories of tennis, but it might be a nice way to kill some time.

"Hey!" Stage came bounding up to him.

"Hi," he said.

"So we need you in the theater first thing. We're going to go through the vocals of _Close Every Door_, while Medda works with the kids' chorus, okay?"

David sighed. So much for that.

"Okay?" Stage asked.

"Okay." At least it wasn't dancing.

*

Smurf took a deep breath and downed a glass of fake Kool-Aid. It was lunchtime on Thursday, and she had to do something. The whole crush situation was going to kill her. Especially now that the chorus was rehearsing in the theater all the time, so she couldn't even escape from the theater. Which meant she was around Blink _all the time_.

It was really getting annoying. She liked spending time with Blink fine, never mind the annoying, smug looks from Trixie and Arrow all the time. In fact, spending time with Blink was easy, and she didn't even have a problem upholding their truce. They joked a lot, even made fun of each other, and it was just generally a good time. What was killing her was that she liked him and she wanted to tell him, because she was pretty sure he liked her back. But if he did, why hadn't he _done_ anything about it? According to Trixie and Arrow, she was completely obvious.

Well. Fine. All the flirting was doing was making her crazy and she wanted to do something about it already, so she would.

Everyone filed out of the dining hall after the meal ended, and began to head back to their cabins for awhile. Smurf jogged a little and saw Blink starting up the main path with Race and David. She hesitated for a second, then called, "Hey, Blink!"

All three of the boys paused and she was pretty sure they exchanged some quick conversation, then Race and David started walking again, and Blink walked over to her. "Hey, Smurf," he said.

"Um." Deep breath. She'd decided to do this, after all. "I was just thinking, um...about tonight. About the dance tonight."

Blink stared at her. His expression resembled nothing so much as a deer caught in headlights. But she was already pretty much in this, so there was no running away.

"And I was thinking"

"Smurf, hang on, I"

"No, one sec, I just was thinking, maybe you and me...like, we could go together or something."

There, she'd said it.

And he didn't say anything back, not for a few seconds, and then the silence got longer and they just stared at each other.

"Just as friends," she added lamely.

"Look, Smurf, I...Um, I..." He swallowed and trailed off.

"If you don't want to, whatever. That's cool."

"No, IIt's just, um, I'm kind of already going with someone. Mayfly."

"Oh."

"It's just, she asked me a few days ago."

"Cool. Okay." She took another breath. She'd known Mayfly had a crush on Blinkeveryone knew that. She just hadn't realized Blink liked her back. "Well, whatever. I just meant as friends anyway. No big deal."

"It's not that I don't want to go with you," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm really"

"Okay, well. Never mind then. I've got to go...I've got to go meet Trixie, so I'll see you."

"Yeah, definitely. I'll see you. I'm really sorry," he said, and he did actually sound apologetic.

Smurf hurried off, noting in a detached kind of way that she was never going to trust anything her best friends said about boys again, ever. But the less detached part of her was trying really hard not to cry, because as stupid as it was to care that much about some summer camp dance, and even as annoying as Blink was and never mind how long she'd spent hating him, she'd actually really, _really_ wanted him to say yes.

*

"You know, if certain people saw you two sharing clothes, there would probably be a lot more gossip," David mused, watching Blink and Mush prepare for the dance. He had already resigned himself to a night of being a wallflower, or maybe hanging out with a few friends. He had less than no interest in even pretending he cared about the dance.

Blink, on the other hand, had actually asked for Mush's help with dressing up. "You want to impress Mayfly?" Mush asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No! I just want to look nice. It's an occasion, or something." Blink scowled. "She's mad at me."

"Mayfly?"

"No. Smurf."

"Well, yeah," Race put in reasonably. "You didn't so much explain to her what had happened as _reject her_, and that tends to piss girls off."

"At least she didn't cry," Mush agreed. "Though I can't really picture her crying. Kicking you in the nuts, maybe, but not crying."

Blink groaned. "Just find me something to wear already."

He still had to wear the khakis he'd had at the last dance, because no one else really had pants that would fit him. But Mush then produced a light brown, button-down shirt and the same red tie he'd loaned to Blink last time. "How do I look?" Blink asked, glancing down at himself.

"You'll do," Mush said.

David looked at Blink critically and realized he was actually checking Blink out. Oops.

Skittery sat down next to him. "Well, at least part of the rumor about you seems to be correct," he noted. "Straight guys rarely stare at each other like that."

Blink blushed and David shrugged. He wasn't really in the mood to argue, and everyone would think what they wanted anywaythey clearly already did.

Finally, Sneakers walked into the bunk, dressed up a little himselfthe only person other than Blink who was wearing a tie. "Aw, you have a chaperone date," David said.

"Shut up." Sneakers handed out index cards to everyone.

"Huh?" Blink asked.

"Dance cards." Sneakers grinned. "A lovely little idea Paint had when she realized that basically no one actually put together dates this session. Like, two of you."

That was true, David noted, glancing around. Only Blink definitely had a date. Snitch was pretty sure he didhe'd asked Swinger, but hadn't understood her answer. Judging by tone, though, it probably had meant yes.

"Dance cards?" Mush answered, looking horrified.

"Yes, I suspect yours will be pretty full." Sneakers grinned, then rummaged around in his things and produced a digital camera. "It's gonna be a fun night."

"For some people, maybe," Blink muttered.

David couldn't have agreed more. But still, they all trooped downhill towards the theater, meeting the boys from Ferguson on the way. Snitch and Blink hung out outside on the theater porch, waiting for their dates, while everyone else filtered in. Mark had reappeared with his DJ equipment and shot Race a quick wave; Race nodded back. David wandered over to the where the benches had been shoved at the side of the wall and sat down. At least he'd be able to watch the night's hijinks.

*

"Chin up," Snitch said encouragingly, as the girls approached. He picked out Swinger from the crowd and grinned at her.

"Hey, gate, you're togged to the bricks," she greeted him.

He blinked. "Yeah, you too?" he guessed. But she grinned at him and they walked inside hand-in-hand.

The first figure Blink picked out was Smurf's; she was wearing a denim skirt and a purple halter top with her hair up in a clip. Which was pretty startling, since he was pretty sure she didn't own any of those clothesin fact, he was almost certain the skirt was Arrow's and the shirt was Trixie'sand he'd never seen her with her hair anything other than in a pony-tail. But then she glanced at him, then looked away completely, chin lifted, and brushed past him into the theater. He recognized that posture well enough; after all, he'd spend the better part of the last four years doing things that pissed her off. That was her very specifically ignoring him. Damn.

But then Mayfly appeared. She'd traded in her usual glasses for striking blue contacts, which were set off by a low-cut blue dress. He tried not to gape. She stood leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey." She grinned.

"We're just here as friends, right?" he found himself asking, even though his brain had already informed him that it was doubtlessly the stupidest thing he could possibly say.

She sighed, clearly irritated. "Yes, of course, that's what I said, right?"

"Yeah, just...just checking." And he knew he'd kind of offended her, so he tried to make it right by putting an arm around her shoulders as they walked in. "You look really nice."

"Thanks. You too," she said. "That's Mush's shirt, isn't it?"

"And tie."

"Aww, you dressed up for me." She laughed, sounding a little happier.

Inside, Mark the DJ was handing out pens to the girls. "Now, I know it's traditional for guys to ask girls to dance," he explained, "but let's face it, we've got a _lot_ of assertive young women here, so let 'em have their way. Or be a jerk. It's up to you."

Mayfly grabbed a pen and triumphantly wrote her name on Blink's cardin letters big enough to take the whole thing up. She handed it back to him, smirking, and he laughed. This was actually a little bit funhe'd never really gone to one of the camp dances with anyone before. It was nice and low-key, no pressure, really. If it hadn't been for the fact that Smurf was pointedly signing other boys' dance cards and ignoring him, he'd probably really have enjoyed it. Instead, as the DJ stuck on a ballad, he tried not to groan as Smurf began dancing with Swifty, of all people.

So naturally, when he and Mayfly walked past her, he muttered, "You look ridiculous. He's too tall for you." Never mind that Blink himself was half a head taller than Swifty.

"Bite me," Smurf replied.

Swifty gave them a confused look, but didn't get involved. Mayfly all but yanked him away into the crowd. He wasn't much of a dancer, but did his best for the next couple of songs. Mayfly seemed to enjoy herself, anyway. Finally, he said, "I'm gonna get some punch. You want any?"

She followed him over to the refreshments table. He grabbed a plastic cup and then glanced up and saw that Smurf was now dancing with Ian. "I kind of thought he was gay," he mumbled aloud.

Mayfly followed his gaze. "Ian? He's bi. What do you care?"

"I don't."

"Don't have a crush on him like you do on Mush?" She grinned. "So are you going to pour that punch or what?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." He looked away, irritated that Smurf hadn't even glanced over at him, and poured them each a cup of punch. They stood around and ate handfuls of chips for a few minutes, and finally the dancing began to die down. People wandered off towards the walls to chat, and Blink let out a sigh of relief. Mayfly began gabbing with   
friends and he zoned out a little, watching.

Race was still dancing, though he looked a little grumpy about it. That was definitely amusingBlink had a suspicion that Race's dance card was probably more full than he'd expected. Spot also seemed to have had a fair amount of girls sign up for his, but he was standing and scowling by now, having completed dances with Quotes, Sodapop, and Winger.

And Smurf was doing something that resembled grinding with a very confused-looking Itey. Blink scowled.

Mush stepped up next to Blink and grabbed a cup of punch, then noted quietly, "You know she's only doing that to make you jealous, right?"

"Huh?"

"Um, Smurf's outfit and her ignoring you and dancing with people I'm pretty sure she's never even _talked_ to?"

"Oh." That hadn't occurred to him. "Then...Damn." He sighed.

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" Mush asked. "It basically means she likes you."

"But I'm still here with..." He nodded at Mayfly, who was still busy gabbing with friends. "And it would be totally unfair to her to do, well...anything." He shot Mayfly another look. He'd been more than happy to go with her, as friends...and he liked being friends with her. So in order to not be a jerk, there was no diplomatic way to tell Smurf he liked her until after the dancethere was no way to get her alone for a few minutes that he could think of, and even if he managed to, he wouldn't be able to do anything other than say how he felt. And considering everything from Daisy to the concussion to the dance, he wouldn't blame her if that just wasn't enough.

As the night wore on, the dance became much more about chatting than dancing. Blink didn't mind too much, thoughMayfly was friends with the theater girls, which meant Blink got to hang out with Mush almost by default. And Mush pulled over David, who was also friends with the theater girls, so it wasn't like the night was a total wash. Blink just couldn't help but think that if there was a way for him to talk to Smurf alone for even two minutes, it could be so much bettershe'd know the truth, she'd stop being mad at him, and maybe she'd come hang out, at least.

An hour or so into the dance, the DJ came on the microphone. "Well, folks, we had some great dancing in the beginning, but just look at the dance floor now." Blink looked. It was empty. "So come on, you guys, this is a _dance_ not a...uh...chat.

"You all know the drill. I'll pick a couple to start us off, and when the music freezes, you pull on another dancer. Let's see..." He peered off into the crowd, and pointed at the throng of campers where Blink was standing. "Hey, eyepatch, grab your date and get dancing."

Blink didn't have to do any grabbingMayfly took his hand excitedly and everyone cleared the way. A slow song began to play and Blink tried not to look around at the room. He couldn't help but feel a little silly with everyone watching him, but then perked up a tiny bit_everyone_ was watching him. That definitely had to include Smurf.

He watched for her and saw her standing in a corner, looking pointedly out a window. But he smiled, because he got to pick his next partner, and since he couldn't dance with Mayfly again, there was no reason _not_ to grab Smurf. And even though they only had a few seconds before they'd need to switch partners again, he thought it would be long enough.

But when the music paused, she'd disappeared from her corner and he couldn't spot her. And he had to grab someone quickly. The nearest girl to him was Slant, who looked a little startled when he grabbed her arm, but didn't object any. As they moved, he looked out at the crowd again, but couldn't see Smurf anywhere. Slant grabbed Racetrack to dance with and Blink reached out towards Birdie, but gazed around and around the room, looking for Smurf. He finally spotted her, pushing her way towards the door. The music froze just as she reached it, and he practically sprinted over to her.

"I don't want to dance with you," she snapped, as he took her hand and tugged her back towards the dance floor.

"Too bad. I mean," he corrected quickly, "I'm sorry. About earlier."

"Whatever. Look"

"I really like you," he blurted.

"What?"

"I do. I told Mayfly I'd go with her as friends a few days ago, and I didn't want to...you know, hurt her, so I"

"You are such an idiot!" Smurf exclaimed, and punched his shoulder, albeit playfully. "You should have said something earlier!"

"I wanted to! You didn't give me much of a chance," he squawked. "But yeah, I'm glad you asked me that thing earlier, because like I said..."

"You _like_ me." She smirked.

"So, um, do you...you know, like me back?"

"I"

The music stopped, and the DJ announced, "Good job, guys! Now keep it up!" The snowball dance had ended and another song began, and Mayfly popped up at Blink's side. She grabbed his hand.

"Hey, let's go dance! Oh, hi, Smurf."

"Yo." Smurf didn't sound any happier about being interrupted than Blink himself felt. But he didn't know what else to do, so he just followed Mayfly's lead and found himself with his arms around her.

"She's got such a thing for you," Mayfly laughed. "And to think, everyone thought you two hated each other..."

"We don't anymore," Blink answered. "Actually, she's pretty cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, uh..." He laughed nervously. "You know, if you hadn't asked me here first, I'd probably have...well, I definitely had thought about asking her."

Mayfly stopped dancing. Blink winced. She looked kind of upset; he definitely hadn't intended for that to happen.

"Do you _like_ her?" Mayfly asked.

"Umm..." Blink took a deep breath. Lying was the polite option, but he somehow doubted Mayfly would believe anything. Finally, he nodded towards the door. "Do you want to go talk?"

"I guess."

They stepped out of the theater onto the front porch and sat down on the steps. They didn't talk for a minute; Blink could hear both the music pumping inside and the crickets out in the field.

"So..." Blink finally said. "I...I mean, look, I do like Smurf. But I kind of figured that...I mean, I know you asked me to go with you as a friend, but I thought...maybe you liked me."

"Yeah," she said softly.

"And...I didn't want to hurt you." He took a deep breath. "I mean, I know it sucks when someone you like doesn't like you back. And I didn't want you to feel like that."

"But you _don't_ like me."

"I like you as a friend," he said quickly. "Of course I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't have said yes at all. I knew I could have a good time with you tonight. And I have."

Mayfly rested her chin in her hand. "Well, this kind of sucks."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, I really didn't."

"I know." She sighed. "You're so stupid."

"You know, people have told me that before."

Mayfly laughed, but it was a little awkwardly.

They sat in quiet again. Finally, Blink said, "You know what, I came here with you. So let's go dance some more."

Mayfly hesitated. "You don't want to go hang out with Smurf?"

"Nah." That was a lie, but he'd already decided it was more important to him to be nice to Mayfly. He remembered Sarah rejecting him all too clearly, after all.

She glanced over at him and smiled. "Thanks, Blink. See, this is why I like you. You're too nice."

"Oh, yeah, a real perfect gentleman." He laughed. "Besides, I couldn't dance with Smurf much anyway. I'd develop a hunch."

She giggled and Blink stood to lead her back inside. And even though things were awkward after that, he didn't mind too much. They alternately danced and chatted, and he shrugged at Smurf in passing. She didn't say anything, but she didn't ignore him anymore, either. And when he caught her eyes and they managed to share a gaze for a few seconds, she was smiling. Which had to be a good sign.

An hour and a half later, the DJ came on the microphone again. "Well, kids, it's been a long night...But let's get out on the floor one last time. Come on, it's a slow song. Grab a partner and let's get going."

Blink glanced over at Mayfly, but to his surprise, she shook her head. "You know what? You were really nice to me tonight," she said, and then leaned up to kiss his cheek. "So yeah, don't worry about me. Go ask her to dance."

He smiled. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

He gave her a grateful look. "Thanks, Mayfly. I really, really owe you." And with that, he looked around for Smurf and saw her sitting on a bench at the edge of the theater. He hurried over to her and paused, then held out a hand.

"You never answered my question earlier," he pointed out, as he pulled her to her feet.

"I'm dancing with you, aren't I?" She smiled.

He smiled back. "I'm sorry about all the times I've been a jerk to you."

"Gosh, for the last four years?" She laughed. "I'm sorry too. It's all good now, though, right?"

"Right. I just wish we'd made up before almost the end of camp."

"Yeah, me too."

He gave her a hand a squeeze and the music played on. They didn't talk, just danced for a minuteand he did have to hunch over, and she was more or less dancing on her tiptoes, but Blink still couldn't stop grinning. Even when Snitch and Swinger, who seemed to be jitterbugging despite the fact that the song was an early-90s Bryan Adams ballad, practically ran them over, he didn't mind; even though they weren't talking, and he was pretty sure they'd never been quiet together before, he didn't mind. Because it felt nice.

When the music ended, the theater's overhead lights came on. The counselors who were chaperoning tried to usher everyone out. Mayfly walked by them and gave them a wry smile, then hurried out. Hand-in-hand, Smurf and Blink held back, and were the last people to leave the theater.

Outside, everyone had broken into cliques. Race, David, and Mush were standing a few yards away, looking interested. Trixie and Arrow were waiting where the path split to lead to the girls' section of camp. Arrow waved and Smurf waved back with her free hand.

"So..." Blink said quietly.

"Yeah." Smurf smiled. "Good night, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess." He squeezed her hand again before they let go. "Uh, goodnight," he added.

She shot him a quick smile and stared off a few steps, but then paused and glanced back at him. He stepped forward and gabbed her hand again, leaned down, and kissed her.

He barely heard the round of cheering and shouted catcalls, though, because Smurf kissed him back.

Then, blushing brightly and positive he was grinning like a complete dope, he strutted up the path towards his friends.

*

Mark appeared at breakfast the next morning, sitting at the table with his parents. "Morning," Racetrack mumbled, as he joined them at the table.

"Yo." Mark was smirking.

Racetrack frowned.

"Aww, how can you be so grumpy when you had such a good night last night?"

"What are you talking about?"

Mark made a big show of pulling a battered card out of his pocket and showing it to their mother. "Tony's turn into quite the heartbreaker, Mom." He raised an eyebrow. "You left your dance card behind last night, Tony."

Race groaned.

"Let's see," Mrs. Higgins said, and began reading the card. "Slant, Arrow...Winger, Two-Bits, Lyrics, Zodiac, Birdie... And most of these girls, more than once."

Race shot a glare at Mark. "You couldn't just have kept that to yourself?"

"And missed the chance to torture you? Don't be silly, bro."

"I hate you."

"Now, now, Tony," Mrs. Higgins chided. "I doubt that's the attitude that made so many girls fall for you."

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

At the other end of the table, Mr. Higgins raised an eyebrow. "Probably not, no."

Race groaned.

*

Friday morning was the first fully costumed, propped, set-using, stop-free run through of _Joseph_. The role of Pharaoh still hadn't been filled; Maverick was singing it from the audience and Bumlets was filling in with the on-stage dancing, but the cast had been assured that the actor would be able to do the dance without having run through it with the cast. David was skeptical, but then, David was still working hard not to trip over his own feet for much of the show.

But his stumbling through dance moves aside, the rehearsal went better than he'd expected.

"Good job, my little loves," Medda declared afterwards, as everyone gathered at the front of the stage for her acting and singing notes, with Bumlets on one side to critique the dancing and Worm on her other side, her stage manager's clipboard in hand, to give notes about transitions and props that hadn't been handled correctly.

Notes took a much longer time than David had hoped. Then they ran just transitions, so everyone would get a better idea of when to exit and enter and which flats had to be moved on when, then they ran several of the numbers and did more notes. By lunchtime, he was already exhausted. But they were meeting back at the theater directly after lunchthey wouldn't have time to rehearse the next morning, after all, because parents would be there all day and want to see the rest of camp. Demonstrations of swimming and boating activities were first in the morning, then archery and tennis; after lunch was a big riding show, and finally that evening would be Bumlets' dance show and then the musical. Then, David was told, a bonfire on the boating beach, where everyone had one last chance to roast marshmallows, sing songs, and be together before everyone checked out the following morning.

They didn't even have the full afternoon to run the show again. Some parents were arriving that evening, especially ones who were from far away or who hadn't been able to make it on the first changeover day. David's parents were planning to show up that evening and take him and Les to dinner; they'd rented a cheap motel room for Friday and Saturday nights.

So after lunch, it was back to work first thing. They ran act two first, since they'd rehearsed it less over all, then did notes, then ran act one. It was four o'clock when they finished: "Just enough time to do it all again!" Medda said.

David downed an entire bottle of water. Any illusions he might ever have held about theater being glamorous were gone. It was repetitive and dull, a lot of the time; everyone being locked in a room together all day meant that it was not only hot and sweaty, but that everyone was on everyone else's last nerves; and David was not only tired of standing up and moving, but his throat was even _more_ tired and sore. He already knew that by the time his parents arrived, he'd be deeply cranky. They'd probably lecture him for it, too.

When the run through finally ended, David practically collapsed on to the stage. Everyone else did, tooafter the big final dance number, everyone was out of breath a little. And Medda started straight in with her notesand as the lead, most of them were for him. Be more confident in the dances (_Yeah, right,_ he thought, as he nodded in agreement), try not to go flat in his solos, try to look intimidating in the second act, try to look intimidated at the end of the first. And on and on. He did his best to take it all in and remember it, he really did, but considering that the show was the next day, there wasn't much he thought he'd be able to do.

A heavy sensation formed down in his stomach. He still wasn't entirely clear on why Medda had cast him as Joseph, when he was really pretty inexperienced. He couldn't dance. They'd only been working on the show for a week...and there were a lot of people in it, a lot of people who were counting on him to not screw up and make them all look bad. David was used to responsibility, but he was also far too used to self doubt.

"Cheer up," Mush whispered to him, when Medda turned her attention to the girls who played the Narrator. "It's just a camp show, Dave."

"Yeah," he agreed. It was true. "But everyone has worked so hard."

"And you've worked harder than anyone," Mush said. "So it'll all be cool."

"I hope so."

"Gentlemen!" Medda admonished. "Just because it's the end of the day doesn't mean there is time for goofing off! Now, David..."

He tried to listen, he really did. But just as he managed to get focused, his parents arrived. Mrs. Higgins had walked them down to the theater, and seeing that they were there, Medda finally gave up on her lecture. Les bounded from his seat with the younger kids over to hug their parents, and David stood and stretched and waved. His dad, with Mrs. Higgins standing next to him, gestured him over.

Well, he hadn't seen them in a month. David supposed some hugging wouldn't kill him. He walked over to his folks and got kissed on both his cheeks by his mom, and a firm but short hug from his father. "We have a surprise for you," his father added, as they started outside.

"Oh, yeah? I hope it involves...food..."

David trailed off, distracted. Because leaning against the railing of the front porch was Jack, grinning ear to ear. And it was like the lights dimmed, like the world moved in slow motion, as Jack drawled calmly, "Hey, Dave. How you been?"


	40. Linger

Later, David would decide that it was a good thing his brain and body both went into shock when he saw Jack. After all, if he'd been able to do anything more than gape, he probably would have caught Jack in the kind of hug which wasn't platonic, and blown whatever cover they allegedly had left. But given that his parents really had no idea he was gay, it was probably a good thing that he just stood there.

Finally, when the silence was probably awkwardly long, he remembered to speak. "Oh, hey, Jack."

Jack laughed. "Hey, yourself."

"I, uh...I didn't expect...I didn't know you were coming."

"Yeah, it was kind of a last minute thing." Jack shrugged. "Your folks gave me a lift."

He turned to stare at his parents, who were looking on with interest. He swallowed, wondering how this had happened, and what they might know that he hadn't told them, and finally said, "Thanks."

"Oh, well, Sarah told us Jack was just _dying_ to get to see the big show, but he was stranded in the city, and since she had that birthday party this weekend and couldn't make itwe hope you don't mind, Davey, but she's had it planned for two weeks nowwell, we certainly had room in the car," his mother explained.

He blinked. Sarah? Really? That was definitely something to ask Jack about later. In the mean time, he said, "That's really cool. Yeah. Uh..."

"You know, when Jack told us you were playing Joseph, we were just so pleased, David," she continued. "You could have written to tell _us,_ you know. What kind of boy doesn't write to his parents for eight whole weeks?"

"A busy one!" he objected. "Which is why you sent me here!" They were gathering a crowd of onlookers now, as most of the cast filed out of the theater. Jack shot David a grin but then hurried to go chat with friends, probably trying to make things look less suspicious. Like he hadn't hitched a ride with his boyfriend's parents to come visit.

"He has you there, Esther," Mr. Jacobs said good-naturedly. "Well, come onwe'd best head off to dinner like we promised your brother." He glanced over at Jack, who was laughing at Blink, who was bright red. Which, David surmised, meant that either someone was filling Jack in on the kiss between Blink and Mushor the one between Blink and Smurf. Either way, Blink looked hilariously uncomfortable. "Jack! Would you like to come with us for dinner, or stay here with friends? Either way's fine by us."

Jack glanced at the group and then at David and hesitated. Race slapped his back. "Go on, you didn't come back here for the food, that's for sure," he said.

Everyone else snickered and David was pretty sure it wasn't because of Race mocking the camp's food. Okay, so maybe he and Jack _were_ kind of obvious, once you were looking for it. Which everyone probably was. But still, Jack shrugged, and said, "Yeah, that's true. I'd love to come with you, Mr. Jacobs, if you don't mind."

"Our pleasure," Mr. Jacobs assured him, and with that they began to start up the path back towards the parking lot. And Les somehow squirmed in between Jack and David, first as they walked, then in the middle seat of their station wagon, and then at the table when they sat down.

David told himself not to be too irritatedLes didn't know, and that was a good thing. He didn't want to think about what would happen if his little brother was the one who told his parents about everything. But still, not even being able to reach for Jack's hand under the table was _annoying_.

After they ordered, Jack cleared his throat, then excused himself to the bathroom. He shot David a quick glance, then walked off. David wasn't sure if the glance had actually meant anything, but deiced that it couldn't hurt to assume it did. So he excused himself too, and followed.

The bathroom was a single room, which was being used, so Jack was waiting outside. David looked back to see that they were out of sight of his parents' table, and evidently so did Jack, because _finally_ Jack reached out so they could hug, and David let his head rest on Jack's shoulder. "I missed you," he murmured.

"You, too," Jack said, and David looked up so they could kiss.

"Sarah?" David asked.

"I was desperate for human companionship. My father doesn't count," Jack answered. "So I went temporarily insane and called her."

"And..."

"And we hung out a few timesshe was making me crazy, Dave, I _had_ to come out to her so she'd leave me alone!" He hesitated, then said, "And, well, she kind of guessed about you and me. I didn't tell her, she just laughed and said, 'Oh, that's why you and David are so close,' and I think she figured she was right when I stared at her in surprise."

"Smooth," David laughed.

"But she said she owed you, so she arranged for this to happen. So I can see your show. And see you...And when Mrs. Higgins said it was okay for me to come visit, as long as I stayed up at the house, believe me, there was no way I wouldn't be here."

With that, they were kissing again. When the bathroom door opened, the guy who stepped out certainly looked surprised. Jack hurried in, and David couldn't stop himself from laughing.

And having finally kissed Jack, he felt much better when he finally sat back down at the table with his parents. Except for one thing: he didn't want to be hiding.

It was amazing to David that he'd gone for so long not realizing what he wanted; not even thinking about why he never had an interest in girls. He had just assumed it would happen when he met the right girl, and since he was already considered a freak by most of his classmates, not being a typical, girl-crazy teenage boy didn't bother him. It was like someone had flipped a switch when he met Jack, and the light had finally come onoh. So that was why he hadn't been interested in girls. Yes, he'd still had to meet someone special for it to happen, but now his whole life was illuminated. It wasn't just Jack: he was gay. No question about it.

And like he'd told Jack and Racetrack two weeks ago, his parents wouldn't be upset. They loved him. They'd be happy for him.

But as he dug into a gloriously well-cooked burger, he began to get nervous.

Of course they'd be happy for him. They'd never stop loving him. They'd never said anything homophobic, not that he could recall...but then again, he'd never exactly brought the subject up with them. And maybe, even if they were generally cool with gays overall, it might be different if it was their _son_. And maybe...He thought about everything that had been said about the camp being in danger if they were sued, and about _Jack_ being in danger...

His parents adored Jack. They wouldn't hurt him. Or the camp, David told himself firmly.

But now that he thought about it, the dinner table didn't exactly seem like an ideal place to have this conversation. Even if he did want to be able to be with Jack in public.

He barely tasted his burger and finished his meal quietly.

*

Jack stopped by the evening snack with David, but as they walked in, a crowd of cheers went up. "Aww, you guys really missed me," he said, and got a napkin thrown at him.

"Did you two get a chance to make out?" Mush called.

"Who do you think we are, you and Blink?" Jack answered.

"Hey!" Blink sounded mildly strangled, which brought another round of giggles.

They sat down at Race's table, where Spot was making one last, desperate attempt to pull off a poker win. They both cast guilty looks at Jack, who shrugged. "Hey, I'm not a counselor anymore, see if I care." He glanced over Spot's shoulder. "You're gonna lose this hand, Race."

Race folded immediately, and Spot elbowed Jack sharply between two ribs. Jack made a noise that was half a cough and half a laugh.

"So." Skittery squeezed in at their table. "Are we ever going to hear about what happened between you two?"

"Well, I had a burger and Jack had the grilled cheese with bacon." David raised an eyebrow. "My parents were so disappointed. Not kosher at all."

"They don't love their future son-in-law?"

David glanced at Jack. "You didn't start dating Sarah without telling me, did you?"

"Didn't I mention? We're passionately, madly in love. We're going to petition your parents to let us get married underage."

"Gosh. Do you need a best man?"

"Okay, you guys, we get it," Mush laughed. "You aren't talking."

"Talking about what?" Jack asked innocently. "Lovely weather we're having."

David didn't bother to hide his grin. As annoying as all the questions had been when he'd been alone, now they didn't seem to matter at all. Because with Jack there to help him laugh them off, knowing Jack would wait as long as it took for him to be comfortable and want to come outjust like he'd waited for David to be comfortable and tell him he was gay, even after they'd kissed in the barnwell, with Jack there, nothing seemed hard anymore.

Except telling his parents. The feeling he'd had at dinner hadn't gone away, and somehow, the more his parents seemed to like Jack, the more nervous he became. He couldn't think of a single rational reason why, but there it was.

But at the same time...

He took a deep breath, conflicted. He wanted to tell his friendsit was more to make sure that Jack and the camp stayed out of legal trouble than anything else that prevented him from just telling them. Everyone had made it pretty clear they wouldn't care at all. And he did want to tell his family; he couldn't help but feel like this was what he'd gotten out of camp, out of his parents' stupid idea that it would make him more social.

Maybe it had, or maybe the people at camp were just nicer. He wouldn't know that until he was back at school, he supposed. But what he knew for sure now was that he was gay. They wanted him to know himself better, well, now he did.

But actually _telling_ them felt like a whole other matter.

He didn't groan aloud, but somehow Jack seemed to know, and quietly put a hand on his on David's knee. When David glanced at him, Jack gave him a smile.

Okay. It wouldn't be so hard. Tomorrow, he'd just find a quiet moment, take his parents aside, and tell them. Easy as cake, right?

*

Free time was rather hard to come by on the very last day of camp, David discovered the next morning. Jack came down to breakfast with the Higgins family; campers' families began appearing almost immediately after the meal ended.

David was reintroduced to Skittery's family. Skittery looked pained, especially when his sister asked if she could blow him off to hang out with the curly-haired hunkMushand after Mush ran away, understandably afraid, she began making eyes at Jack. David was irritated, at least until Skittery's mother reminded them that they were from Long Islandas though their accents would let anyone forgetand Skittery pointed out that as David was also living in a New York suburb, it wouldn't be too hard for them to get together and hang out.

Which was kind of a relief. His parents had been right about the fact that he had trouble making friends, and now that he actually _had_ some, he didn't want to lose them. But with camp ending, he had no idea when, or if, he'd be seeing these guys again, and made a mental note to find out who was in his area before the day was over.

The next family to show up was Blink's, which was actually remarkably smalljust his dad. They looked a lot alike, with the same blond hair (and even a similar style), the same eyes (minus the eyepatch), and the same noses and jaws. But Blink's dad had a beard. ("Well," David noted, "at least you know what you'll look like in your forties.")

Unlike the first parents' day, Mush's entire family was there: both parents, all three sisters (Faith, Hope, and Charity, David remembered), and his little brother, Sheppard.

"How did you miss out on the theme-name craziness?" David asked him.

"What makes you think he did?" asked Faith, the oldest of the girls.

David blinked, realizing he didn't have the slightest idea what Mush's real name was. Funny how he felt like he knew Mush so well and was missing a seemingly crucial detail...but when the name was revealedVirtuehe supposed he understood why Mush hadn't been eagerly spreading it around.

Because Swinger's parents had come out for the first parents' day, Snitch's family came to support both of them and Swinger's little sister, and to help them get packed up to head home. His parents were both pretty young and athletic, David judged, and they were utterly nonplussed by Swinger's nigh-incomprehensible dialect.

David spent the morning looking for opportunities to pull his parents aside and talk to them, but was reminded that just because _he'd_ spent the entire summer inside the theater didn't mean that Les had, so he ended up walking along with his parents to every single event. He applied sunscreen, and tried not to give away anything when Jack not-so-innocently offered to rub it in to any hard-to-reach places for him, despite the fact that his parents were watching.

The swimming demonstration was being run by Artemis, who was bring out the swimming groups one at a time to show off all the new strokes and techniques they'd learned. It would have been mind-bogglingly dull, except that most of his friends were also milling around on the beach. It wasn't that everyone wanted to watch the demonstration so much as that there weren't other activities going on, and as it was the last day of camp, it felt almost like there was pressure to stick together, to make jokes, to get in those last few hours of fun before going home.

After swimming was sailing. When David approached the beach, he noticed that Blink and Smurf were holding hands and preparing one of the boats together a demonstration. When Gunwale, Irish, and Dutchy appeared to start the demonstration, Blink looked around self-consciously, kissed Smurf's cheek, and hurried over to help the counselors out. She sat in the sand with her friends, smiling, apparently despite the fact that she still couldn't sail due to her stitches.

David could have sworn he overheard Dutchy mutter, "It's like cats lying down with dogs, I swear to god..." and staring in her direction, but he might have said something different. David couldn't be sure.

The group cheered at the appropriate times, as group of younger kids showed off their canoe and crew skills, then Blink, Itey, Ian, and Spot took out two sailboats and did a few quick turns and tricks. David had to admit it looked pretty cool, and he and Jack both cheered loudly. He glanced over at his parents, and saw them smiling, too, then remembered what he had to tell them. And even though he kept cheering, a little bit of his joy fell away, replaced by nerves.

But that was nothing compared to the nerves as the performance of _Joseph_ drew closer. He tried to stay calm as they trooped back up hill to watch more demonstrations, this time of tennis and archery. David watched Snitch and Mush play tennis with a range of emotions, the shallowest of which was that he abruptly understood why Mush had a flock of girlshow had he missed those abs? Why were all of his male friends abruptly so attractive? It had to be an end-of-camp, clinginess thingbut more importantly, he wondered how, with a pretty big performance that night, Mush could be so calm. He made a mental note to ask Mush at lunch, because he definitely needed to do something. He felt almost nauseous, and knew the feeling wasn't going to go away.

At archery, he failed to mention to his parents that he'd only been onceand Sneakers gave him a wink and didn't mention it either. As David hadn't spent much time around archery, he didn't know quite what to expect. But as he watched Sneakers walk Spot through several demonstrations, he abruptly understood the vague fear that people seemed to have of Spot snapping and going psycho at any moment. It wasn't just that he seemed unnaturally good with a bow and arrow, it was the look of pure, manic glee on his face.

While his parents watched Les, who apparently had spent a good deal more time at the range than David had, he did manage to make his way over to Mush. "Hey, you got a sec?" he asked.

"Yeah, what's up?" Mush smirked. "Where's loverboy?"

"Where's yours?" David shot back.

"Off with his girlfriend, making out somewhere, presumably," Mush said good-naturedly, reminding David that Mush really did seem to be very secure with his sexuality, never mind stereotypes about theater boys.

_Which_, David mused wryly, _I now seem to support._

But aloud he said, "How are you so calm?"

"Hmm?"

"About the show? I'm so nervous it's _killing_ me, Mush. I don't remember a single thing Medda told us yesterday!" He took a deep breath. "I'm going to screw everything up!"

"Nah." Mush grinned.

"What do you _mean_, 'nah'? You're so calm and I'm a wreck!"

Mush shrugged. "What do you want me to tell you, David?" he asked reasonably. "I think you'll be fineyou've been great in rehearsals all week. You're not as bad at the dance numbers as you think you are. You've got a great voice. Medda trusts you with her show, and she knows that kind of thing." He smiled encouragingly and gave David a hearty pat on the arm. "And anyway, everyone here's your friend. Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?"

"They could hate me."

"Why would they hate you? It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal! It could change everything!"

Mush raised an eyebrow. "Okay, well...Um, nuh-uh?"

David took a deep breath. "Sorry, I just...I'm kind of freaking out."

"Look, seriously. All I do isyou take a deep breath. Think about a rehearsal."

"But all the people"

"No, I mean, about the feeling when you finish a rehearsal. You look around and blink, like, 'done already?' It'll all be over before you know it."

David nodded. But he wasn't even really listening anymore...All he could think about was what he'd yelled at Mush. _It could change everything._

Screwing up in a play couldn't. Telling his parents he was gay could. And when he really thought about it, yeah, he wanted to do well in the show...But if it didn't happen, he wouldn't be too upset. But if he came out to his parents and _that_ didn't go well...

_It could change everything._

On the other hand, obviously all holding off was doing was making him more nervous. Like Mush said...think about it being done. And it would be over soon after that, right?

After archery finished up, the families all trooped down towards the dining hall. Something special was being prepared for lunch, evidently (definitely not usual camp foodDavid was pretty sure the camp didn't want parents to know just how bad that really was). He maneuvered his way over to Jack and mumbled, "I'm gonna tell them after lunch."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then." Jack gave him a slightly strained smile.

The Jacobs family regrouped in the dining hall. The meal turned out to be a fake luau, with various veggies and meat cubes all cooked up so everyone could put their own shish-kabobs together. The whole interior had been rearranged, tables pushed together in odd places so extra benches could be moved in, making room for everyone. Despite his haze of nerves, David was vaguely aware that Jack had disappeared, but was too busy trying to figure out what he was going to say.

It wasn't like he could just come out and _say_ it. But it also wasn't like there was a delicate way of implying it. And then he'd have to explain everything that had happened with Jack.

"David, honey, you're barely eating," Esther scolded. "Honey, camp _must_ have given you an appetite."

"Mom," he grumbled. "I'm an adult, I can decide what to eat for myself."

She smiled. "You're still my baby, no matter what."

He was actually almost comforted by that.

The one snag to this brilliant plan of talking after lunch was that he had to get rid of Les. Not that he didn't love his little brother, but he wasn't quite ready to explain to a nine-year-old what was going on. He was pretty sure he'd need his parents' help for that one.

But somehow, as the meal ended and families began to drift away, Jack was there at the rescue. "Hey, kid, I been talking to Paintshe says you've done some pretty great stuff over at arts'n'crafts, but you haven't shown me yet." He grinned down at Les. "So you wanna?"

"Yeah!" Les agreed enthusiastically.

"Let's go," Mr. Jacobs said, nodding, but David cleared his throat.

"Actually, uh...Mom, Dad, I was hoping you and I could...you know, talk a little." He bit his lip while his parents exchanged glances.

"You can show your folks later," Jack told Les, leading him away. "I bet lots happened in the bunk after I left. You wanna tell me about it?"

"Yeah!" Les said again, and they drifted away.

"David?" Mrs. Jacobs asked curiously.

"Um, maybe we could...go out on the porch. Where there's some privacy. And a great view," he said quickly. There were a few other people outside on the dining hall's back porch, which overlooked the lake, but plenty of space between them all. As he led his parents outside, he remembered that this was where Jack had first told him about his family, almost two months ago...and that they'd made out here once, the night he and Jack got caught.

"What's going on, David?" Mr. Jacobs asked, as they sat on the bench that ran along the porch's far side, David between his two parents.

"Well, it's just...um..." He vaguely remembered that weeks ago, he'd talked down Mrs. Higgins, but whatever eloquence she'd ascribed to him was now gone. "Look, okay, uh...so, you guys sent me here for that whole...self-knowledge thing, right? And I thought it was stupid, but maybe...maybe you were right after all. Because, like..." He groped for words, and told himself not to stall. _This could change everything._

"Because, like, I dunno. I did a lot of thinking, when I wasn't busy with the theater and the other guys and all. And, um, I guess...I realized some stuff. About me." Deep breath. "Mom, Dad, it's...I'm gay."

He waited for them to say anything, and for what felt like an eternity, the words just hung in the air. He wondered if maybe they hadn't heard, but then abruptly his mother pulled him into a hug, clutching him tightly. And his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"David..." Mrs. Jacobs finally said. "Oh, Davey."

"Is it...I mean, okay?" he asked. The hug indicated it probably was, but...

"Of course, son." Mr. Jacobs nodded. "We...Well, I know it must have taken courage for you to tell us like that. And I'm glad you did."

"We just want you to be happy," Mrs. Jacobs added.

"Oh. Good."

She finally released him and he leaned back against the porch. First hurdle jumped. Now was the potentially dangerous one. "There's just, um, one other thing."

"Hmm?"

"Jack. He's...Well, Jack is my boyfriend." He waited for that to sink in, seeing his parents' faces go from a look of surprised happinessthat was promisingto confusion.

"I thought Jack was a counselor?" Mr. Jacobs finally asked.

"Yeah, he was. It's, well, kind of a long story. Which I really want to tell you, but first I justI need you guys to know that, that Jack means a lot to me." Oddly, now the words were just pouring out. "I really, _really_ care about him, and he makes me happy...happier than I've ever been, I think. And, and everything between us, it was all my decisions, my choices. Jack never, ever, pressured me, or anything like that. Okay?"

"Dave..." Mr. Jacobs trailed off, but finally nodded.

"Okay," Mrs. Jacobs agreed, her voice sounding a little happier than her husband's.

"Okay," David echoed. "Then, I guess...it started..." His first impulse was to start when he'd been sick, but he realized he needed his parents to know that what happened with the Delanceys accusing themno matter how true the accusations were, they more mostly just malicious. "Well, it really started with a fist fight after dinner one night."

*

David spent most of the next twenty minutes trying to explain the entire summer as though it were perfectly normal. He skimmed over the non-Jack related events, like Race's family and the strike, and when he reached the part where they got caught and both did a fair amount of lying, he spent it staring at his shoes. His parents made vague noises of...He didn't know. Interest, acknowledgement that they were listening. Not much else; nothing he could discern as being angry or anything, but nothing that sounded especially supportive.

He wrapped the tale up with, "So...We said goodbye. And I really missed him...and I'm so grateful you let him come with you, I really am." He stared at his hands. "I swear, we didn't do anything wrong. We didn't mean to hurt anything..."

His mother put an arm around him and he leaned against her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head, the way she had when he was much younger, and he took a few deep breaths.

"You've had a very busy summer," she eventually commented, and laughed. It was nervous laughter, but notDavid was relieved to noticeangry.

"Well, that was the idea, right?"

"Little did we know," Mr. Jacobs mused. "Still, Iwell, Jack is a nice kid, Dave. And even when he screwed up pretty bad...it sounds like you two handled it as best as you could."

David nodded again, still leaning against his mother. He felt a little drained. But his father checked his watch and slowly stood up. "David..." He hesitated, and held out his hand. Never mind that they were a family that hugged; David got it. He stood up and shook his father's hand. It was some kind of respect thing. And then, as his mother stood, his father did hug him very tightly, but only for a few seconds.

They didn't say much else as they walked into the dining hall. David didn't mind, though; he knew his parents weren't mad. They were...well, they were probably a little shell-shocked, but happy for him. And a little bit proud. And they loved him.

And the only thing that had changed was that he felt better.

They walked back out of the front of the dining hallonly to see that Jack was standing in front of it expectantly, with Mr. and Mrs. Higgins next to him. Les was nowhere to be seen, David noted, as he realized that Jack must have told the Higginses what was going on so they could be prepared.

Everyone stood in quiet nervousness for a moment, and finally Jack said, his voice cracking, "Mr. Jacobs, Mrs. Jacobs, II'm sorry"

"For what?" Mr. Jacobs asked easily.

And, being the mother she was, Mrs. Jacobs crossed brusquely to where Jack was standing and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely. His eyes widened with surprise and he tentatively hugged her back.

"Now, no apologies," Mrs. Jacobs said, when she finally released him. "We couldn't imagine a nicer boy for David to bring home, honestly."

David snuck a glance at the Higginses, who both looked pretty relieved themselves. But even so, Mrs. Higgins cleared her throat. "If you two have any questions or concerns..." she started.

Mr. Jacobs shrugged. "I don't know if I'd have handled things the same way," he admitted. "But it's very clear that you love Jack. And I suppose we can't hold that against you."

"And we didn't do anything _wrong_," David added.

Mr. Jacobs and Mrs. Higgins shared an amused look, and finally Mr. Higgins cleared his throat and noted, "We should head over to riding now, if you want to be there in time for your little brother, David."

"Oh, Les is in the riding show? That's excellent!" Mrs. Jacobs declared. "Jack, lead the way. David, did you ever go to r"

"No, Mother, I did not."

"Don't snap at your mother, David."

"I didn't snap!"

But still, as he followed Jack and his mother uphill, he didn't mind. Nothing had really changed, not at all.

*

Bumlets met with the dancers he'd chosen for his end-of-the-year dance piece to warm them up fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to go on. The Fiendish song he'd picked was one of their longer tracks, and more about rock than melody, but he felt he'd put together a number that would work. He had also managed to rotate in and out different age groups, and had even had a few boyswell, younger boysvolunteer for it, so he felt like he had a pretty good representation of the camp. He was honestly pretty proud of the number.

The crowd inside the theater wasn't as big as he'd hoped, but all of the performing kids' families were there, and a bunch of othersprobably just waiting for the big show, but still. Most of the counselors had shown up; the rest were probably corralling kids and their families around. He was a little disappointed to see Specs and Dutchy were among that group, but supposed it wasn't a huge deal.

Mrs. Higgins had told him to introduce the event before it started, so when everyone was set to go, he made his way out on to the stage and cleared his throat. It didn't stop the chatter of the audience. "Hey, everyone! We're about ready to get started!" he called, and was met with a smattering of applause. "Souh. This is my first summer as a counselor, so I was pretty excited to get to put together a showcase for everyone. The music for this is from a local band I found over the summer, called Fiendish. As for the dancers, these kids have all worked really hard. So let's hear it for them!"

He stepped off to the side of the stage and hit play on the CD player. And the kids all made their entrances on time, all moved fluidly and gracefully. He couldn't say there wasn't a single misstep or wrong turn, but the campers made it look pretty good. He smiled proudly as they took their bow when the music ended. He stepped back on stage to remind everyone that _Joseph_ would be starting in fifteen minutes and looked out at the smiling crowdthen froze. Standing just inside the doorway was Dutchyand next to him was Gabby, her shock of bright purple hair making her easier to spot.

"I, uh..."

She waved at him.

"Well, that's it from mebut stick around for _Joseph_, which is...it's gonna be really good," he finally said, and hurried off stage and out the back of the theater. The cast of Joseph was there, huddled together doing vocal warm ups, but he only hesitated for a moment before dashing away from them, back around to the front of the theater, and inside.

"...I told you he'd bolt," Gabby was saying to Dutchy.

"Well, he won't have gone far," Dutchy answered. "They'll need him backstage in a few minute, I'll go find him."

"I've been found," he said.

They both spun to see him standing behind him. Gabby cleared her throat. "Hi," she said.

"Um, hello."

"That was cool. That dance thing," she said.

"Thanks. Um..." He trailed off nervously.

Dutchy grinned at him. "Don't freeze up now, Alec, come on."

He glared and Dutchy smirked a little.

"Hey," Gabby said. "Rob and Rich came to my show last week, you weren't there."

"I, uh, switched days off last week."

"So they said." She smiled. "Anyway, they said you were using my music for something, which sounded cool to meso they said I should drop by if I wanted to. So here I am."

"Wow, uh...that's really cool," he said lamely. Dutchy elbowed him. "Um, thanks," he added.

"You're welcome."

"Did you want to stick around for the show?"

"Alec choreographed that, too," Dutchy added.

"Sure. So what are you doing when camp ends?" she asked.

"Off to college." He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"I mean, like..._right_ after," she said.

"We all stick around for a few days," Dutchy said when Bumlets didn't seem to know what to say. "To get everything all cleaned and sealed up for the winter."

"Oh."

"We have more free time, though," he said, and elbowed Bumlets again.

"Oh, really." She raised an eyebrow. Bumlets noted idly that, while her eyebrows weren't purple and didn't match her hair, she did have an eyebrow ring. "So like...you'd be free to leave camp?"

"We would. One second." He smacked the back of Bumlets's head and hissed, "She gave you her number and is asking what you're doing in a few days. Say something." Then he turned back to Gabby. "Sorry about that. I think he's gone catatonic."

"Shut up!" Bumlets hissed, blushing. Because he knew what he was supposed to say, it was just that the words got caught in his throat. But finally he said, "Um, so...in a few days, would you like to...like, go out? For dinner?"

She grinned. "I'll pick you up at seven on Tuesday."

*

The cast sat in a sort of large, lopsided circle behind the theater. David was leaning back on his arms, staring up at the sky. It was blue, with only a few, perfectly white, perfectly fluffy clouds. And oddly, he wasn't nervous.

"Okay," Mush said, sitting next to him while Race sat on his other side, "you have got to tell me what kind of downers you are on, because you look seriously calm now."

David laughed. "I feel better, yeah. Thanks for talking me down earlier."

Race chuckled. "So how'd you find your zen, Dave?"

"Oh, wasn't too hard." He shot them a smirk. "I came out to my parents. Calmed me right down."

"Huh." Race nodded. "How'd they take that?"

"Big hugs all around."

"Glad to hear it."

Mush glanced at him. "I almost wish I was gay just so I could try that." He looked around. "So when are we going to get our Pharaoh?"

David shrugged. He'd been really nervous about that before, but now Mush and Race were right. He felt really calm, kind of ready to handle anything.

"Campers!" Medda clapped her hands together and stepped into the center of the circle. A camp van pulled up on the dirt path that ran to the south of the theater, which further down split off to go down to the waterfront. David glanced over at it curiously. "I would just like to say that you have all worked very hard, and I'm very proud of all of you. Give yourselves a hand." The group applauded themselves obediently. "Good. And now, meet Elvis."

Joseph was a show that was made up of a whole bunch of musical styles, thrown together. Blink's solo_One More Angel In Heaven_was country-western, Ian was singing a calypso, and Skittery something vaguely French. The Pharoah's number sounded like an old-fashioned Elvis song.

But still, that didn't prepare anyone for what stepped out of the van. David gawked: whoever he was, his costume, at least, was perfect. It was the iconic white, spangled suit, with huge black sunglasses and slicked back black hair. He walked primarily by swiveling his hips.

"Did she actually hire an impersonator?" Race asked, staring.

"Looks like..." Mush said, then squinted. "Wait, no, holy crap. That's Specs."

"No way," David said, staring. But Mush was right. Specs's hair had been greased up and dyed black, and he'd traded in his usual glasses for the giant sunglasses, but when he spoke ("Hey, y'all. Thankyewverymuch.") it was pretty clear.

"You're really good at that," noted one of the younger boys.

"Good at whut?" Specs asked in a thick accent and pitched-low voice.

"Specs, come off it," Stage laughed.

"Specs? Yew mean these?" He indicated his glasses. "They just keep the sun out, darlin'. My eyes are perfect. Thankyewverymuch."

"He's going to keep doing that, isn't he?" Race asked.

"Sounds like," David agreed.

"Very good!" Medda declared. "Elvis, thank you for stopping by to help us out together."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Thankyew"

"Very much, I know," she said. "Well. Now. We've done all our warm-ups, we've practiced very hard...All that's left is to go on and do it. I think we're ready."

David looked around. Ian was sitting next to Spot, who was clearly trying to inch away from him. All of the girls were sitting together, gossiping and gigglingexcept for Smurf, who was sitting next to Blink. They were holding hands. They'd both looked ridiculously happy all the time for the last few days. But David couldn't even be irritated with them anymore, not knowing that Jack had managed to get all the way here to see him. Worm was sitting in the circle, too, though she was still holding her clipboard. But she was talking to some of the younger actresses, looking less awkward than she had at the beginning of the week.

He smiled. He felt ready, and only a little nervous...At least, until the cast snuck into the wings, moving as quietly as possible. (But, with a cast the size of the show's, that was pretty hard.) The lights came on for the prologue and kids' choruswhich Les was part ofand David watched from the wings. And in the first big number, everyone entered in ones and twos. He was the last...And it gave him just enough time to start feeling nervous again.

"..._Joseph, Jacob's favorite son_..." Mondie sang onstage and he started to panic and tripped just a little bit as he stepped on to the stage. Even with people cheering at his entrance, his heart leapt about a mile and in that instant he panicked about finding his mark and getting into positionbut then Jack's voice broke through everything over the sound of singing. Not words, just a loud, supportive whoop.

David remembered that everyone was just there for fun. And that the people who cared about him wouldn't care if he screwed up...And knowing that made it all seem easy enough that he didn't think he was going to screw up at all.

And he didn't.

Except, maybe, on one or two of the dance moves, where he might have lost track of where he was, or turned the wrong way, or banged into someone else. But only a little. Otherwise, the show went off without a hitch, and when he came out to do his curtain call, he looked out at the audience and saw they were all on their feet, cheering and applauding. And even though everyone was yelling loudly, he could swear Jack was loudest of all. So when Jack was the first person he greeted afterwards, with a hug that confirmed rumors by not even pretending to be platonic (and it was all he could do not to go for a kiss, too), no one was too surprised.

David didn't stop grinning for hours.

*

Dinner that night was a cookout, again to accommodate all the extra people. Afterwards, parents were ushered out of the camp for the nightthe big end-of-summer campfire was a camp-only affair.

_Well_, Jack mused, _camp and me._

He'd only been gone two weeks, but being back felt decidedly odd. Everyone gave him strange looks, just about constantly. His campers had been glad to see him; some of the kids had asked about the "family reasons" he'd officially resigned over, and he'd managed to stutter out an answer. But it seemed like any kid over the age of twelve knew, or knew rumors, and everyone just stared. The fact that he spent most of the day with the Jacobs family didn't really help, either.

But after saying his quick hello to everyone else, he stayed with the family anyway. Not that he didn't want to see his friends, but he was there for David. And so even though he'd almost had a panic attack when David said he wanted to come out to his parents and explain everything, he'd been as helpful as he could, and told himself that David knew his parents best, and how they'd react. And he was pretty sure the Jacobs family liked him.

But he was positive he'd never been as relieved in his whole life as the moment Mrs. Jacobs had hugged him. Startled, but relieved.

Since then, David had seemed much more at ease...and less interested in keeping their private life private. Jack couldn't decide if he minded or not. The only time it had been a problem had been momentarily at the riding showMorris Delancey was still at the camp, after all, and had come stalking over towards him. Then he'd seen that Jack was standing with David and his parents, and whether he'd figured out that the secret was out, or was just too chicken at heart to carry through with his threats, he'd settled for a scowl, a muttered nasty word, and then had gone about his business.

Otherwise, nothing bad had happened. His friends had all been really understanding, no one even said anything when he spent the day trailing after the Jacobs family. Though he had to worry a little bit, even after Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs had been so kind...What if other campers mentioned it to their families? Could that really lead to trouble, like the Delanceys had claimed?

He didn't want to worry David about it. So he just followed quietly and cheered loudly. And remembering how David had barely been able to stutter through a sentence the first week of camp, he cheered even _louder_ when he saw his boyfriend being, in perhaps mildly biased opinion, completely awesome on stage.

Then had been dinner and now...

He stared up at the stars. The bonfire was held on the boat beach; it had more room, easier access, and smoother ground than the swimming beachand they were the only areas where there wasn't a lot of foliage around to catch fire. And the fire had been nice and toasty for half an hour now.

The sun was now just about down, with only a hint of orange left shimmering against the lake. Stars were out and visible; the moon was bright. Fireflies zapped on and off in the woods at the edge of the wide beach; some of the littler kids were catching them in cupped hands to see them glow, then releasing them again. Mrs. Higgins was guarding a carton of marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars with her life against attempts from some of the middle-group campers to steal them and start making smores early.

Jack himself was all but lying on the sand, his shoulders propped up against a log which would probably be fire fodder in a couple of hours. David was leaning against him comfortably; the rest of Pentland's occupants were scattered nearby. This was the outer loop of campers; the younger oneswho weren't off enjoying the twilight beach (and being kept away from the water by fierce counselors)were sitting closer to the fire.

Dutchy and Specs strolled down on to the beach together. Specs's hair was still slicked back into the Elvis-do, though the dye (doubtlessly something from a spray can) was fading. Dutchy was carrying his guitar case. Spots in the inner circle were cleared for them immediately and Dutchy was tuning up within a minute of sitting down.

"I missed the bonfire first session," David commented. "We were sick."

"Yeah, that's right," Jack remembered. And he remembered lying there across from David, dozing off thinking about how the only other person he could possibly have spent so much time locked in a room with and not wanted to kill was Racetrack...who was like a brother to him. And realizing that David was never going to be like a brother to him, and that best friend wasn't good enough, either.

But he'd never had hazy daydreams of losing his job, of being exiled away from camp for two weeks. This was the moment he'd dreamed about, lying on the beach with David so close.

When Dutchy and Specs started singing, though, he decided to just enjoy this moment instead of thinking about everything he'd gone through to get there.

"Hey, I know this song," David commented, as they listened. "My dad listens to this."

It was Simon &amp; Garfunkel, Jack knew, but really only because he'd heard them sing it before. It was a last night of camp tradition.

_"Each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories; and every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be,"_ Specs sang, and then Dutchy came in with the harmony for the chorus, still strumming on his guitar. _"Homeward boundI wish I was, homeward bound. Home, where my thoughts escaping; home, where my music's playing; home, where my love lies waiting silently for me..."_

Jack had no interest in going home, not really. Not to New York, and not to Santa Fe, either. For him, this place was home. The Higginses had been better parents to him than either of his own.

The folk-singing duo moved from Simon and Garfunkel on to Peter, Paul &amp; Mary_Puff the Magic Dragon_. "So is this song depressing or about drugs?" Race asked lightly from where he was sitting in the sand.

"This is about drugs? Are you kidding me?" Blink asked.

"I think it's just depressing," Skittery said.

"Drugs, for sure," Snitch said.

"No way," Blink said.

He looked over at Smurf, who rolled her eyes fondly. "How did you not know that?"

"It's not," Skittery said. "That's just a rumor. It's just depressing. Like Peter Pan. Growing up sucks."

"I don't know," David mused. "Growing up isn't so bad."

Jack smiled.

"Hey!" Ian called, as the song wound down. "Play something happy!"

Dutchy shrugged amiably and kicked into Home On the Range, which also had the advantage that all of the kids could sing along. After that it was The Beatles' Yellow Submarine, then he and Specs got everyone into a rousing (but simple) round about flowers that everyone had learned over the summer. It lasted about three minutes before falling apart, which wasn't bad for a round at all.

Jack smiled as they went into another end-of-year tradition. Specs called, "Okayone more, and then smores, guys. This is a slow one, so don't speed it up. Take your time. We'll do it a couple times, so everyone learns the words."

Dutchy struck a mellow chord, and the campers who recognized it all chimed in:

> _Mm-mm I want to linger_
> 
> _Mm-mm a little longer_
> 
> _Mm-mm a little longer here with you_
> 
> __
> 
> Mm-mm it's such a perfect night
> 
> Mm-mm it doesn't seem quite right
> 
> Mm-mm that it should be my last with you
> 
> Mm-mm and come September
> 
> Mm-mm I will remember
> 
> Mm-mm our camping days and friendships true
> 
> Mm-mm and as the years go bye
> 
> Mm-mm I'll think of you and sigh
> 
> Mm-mm this is goodnight and not goodbye
> 
> Mm-mm I want to linger
> 
> Mm-mm a little longer
> 
> Mm-mm a little longer here with you

The song tapered off and the last strains of it died off into the night, which seemed rather quiet. Jack looked around and was actually a little overwhelmed: this summer, he'd found David; Smurf and Blink had finally worked out what four years of tension with each other actually meant. Spot had actually bested Race in the prank wardespite what Race claimed, the missing mattress really had been a great trickand Race had learned a little about communicating with his mother.

And now it was all ending. Jack knew he wouldn't be able to come back and work again...visit, yes, but not work. So after a decade, this was really his last night at camp, his last bonfire. He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.

Counselors handed out the snacks, the little kids first, and when the started munching, the older kids moved in to begin toasting their own marshmallows. Mrs. Higgins stood to talk.

"Well. It certainly has been an eventful summer," she noted. "As always, of course." Polite chuckles. "We've watched so many of you change this summerfor the better, I think. Kids always change for the better when they get away from home."

"What about Race?" Jack called.

"He's already perfect." She shot Jack a smug smile. Jack laughed.

"Awwwwwwwwwww," the majority of campers cooed. Jack glanced over at Race, who was doing his best to look disdainful of his mother's comment. Trying so hard, in fact, that he pretty much had to be inwardly very pleased. Or so Jack inferred.

"What's remarkable is how much some of our counselors grow up, too," she added, then nodded over at Sneakers, who stood up and clamored up to her side. He looked around awkwardly.

"So, uh," he said, peering through the rows of campers until he found Paint sitting with some of the younger girls. He stared at her nervously. "I thinkwell. A few of you maybe know that Amy and II mean, me and Painthave been together for awhile. And I just keep thinking...Well." He walked through the crowd of people to her, took her hand, and tugged her to her feet. Then he dropped down to one knee, and Jack could have sworn that the amount of oxygen in the area decreased for a momenteveryone gasped.

And sure enough, he produced a ring. It gleamed in the firelight.

"Amy, will you marry me?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?" But then she laughed. "I meanyes."

He slid the ring onto her finger, and stood up, and they kissed. Jack instinctively groped for David's hand as the group cheered and applaudedand Dutchy struck up _Here Comes the Bride_ on his guitar. Cheers turned to chuckles and someone took pictures, which Jack noted was probably a really good idea.

When Sneakers and Paint finally sat back down, it was side-by-side. And Paint kept looking down at her ring, then over at Sneakers, and then grinning.

"Sickeningly adorable," Skittery muttered.

"Aw, it's not sickening," Blink said.

"So are the two of you," Skittery muttered at him and Smurf.

"With that attitude, who's surprised your single?" Mush mused.

Everyone laughed, and Skittery made a noise of disgust. Jack smirked and glanced at David, who rolled his eyes, but smiled.

As more smores were passed out, Dutchy began playing guitar again. Jack settled back against his log, and this time, David leaned right against him. They were still holding handsanyone who bothered to look could see, but Jack didn't mind so much. It was dark enough that probably no one would think to examine them.

As the night grew darker and the fire died down, the younger campers were, entirely against their will, sent off to bed. The next-youngest group went half an hour later.

"I wish tonight didn't have to end," David murmured into Jack's shoulder.

"All good things, Davey."

"Yeah, yeah, just...I'm really happy, Jack. And I don't want to lose that."

"Then don't." Jack rolled over on to his side to face David. "All that's different is that here you speak up. You've _always_ been awesome." He pressed his forehead to David's, positively _itching_ to kiss him, but a not-so-subtle throat-clearing from Racetrack reminded him that it probably wasn't a great idea to start making out with David right there.

...Or rather, it _was_ a great idea, just not an appropriate one. He pulled away a little bit.

As each group of campers walked away from the fire, they sang the linger song again, as though it really could stretch the night out.

David shivered next to him and Jack put an arm around him. David put his head on Jack's shoulder.

"You know what's hilarious," Skittery mused aloud, "Jack and David are cuddled up exactly like Blink and Smurf."

"Ahem," Mrs. Higgins fake-coughed loudly.

"So you two want to talk about those rumors now?" Skittery asked.

"Nope," Jack and David chorused together.

"Okay, you two speaking in unison isn't adorable. It's annoying," he said in irritation.

"Score," David mumbled, and Jack laughed.

Dutchy was picking out some quieter stuff on his guitar; neither he nor Specs was really bothering to sing much. Jack stared up at the stars and listened: the guitar blended with the waves crashing onto the sand and the bugs humming out in the woods. He felt David's breath against his neck and David's body against his own. And gradually conversation slowed down, and the Junior group was whisked off to bed.

Dutchy set aside his guitar.

"Sleepy?" Jack asked David quietly.

"Mm." David looked at him. "I don't want to go to sleep, though."

"That's the trick of the campfire," Race mumbled. "Mom brings us down here the last night knowing we all get mellow so we won't argue when she sends us to bed like little kids."

"Don't go giving away family secrets, Anthony," his mother chided jokingly.

"It is getting late," Mr. Higgins mused aloud.

"It's like... ten-thirty," one of the girls objected.

"Check your watch again," he said. "It's quarter of twelve."

Jack smiled as David actually did shift enough to check his watch. "What do you know," he mumbled. "When did that happen?"

"Sometime around when Dutchy's mellow catalog ran out," Specs said.

"My fingers are gonna be blistered. I haven't played for three hours in a row since..." He considered. "Last summer's bonfire."

"Not much of a bonfire anymore," Race mused, sitting up. It was true; the fire had died down to embers.

"Fifteen minutes, kids," Mrs. Higgins said.

Jack nudged David and they both sat up. Realizing the end of the evening was imminent, so did most of the other campers. People yawned and stretched.

"So what do we do now, sing?" David asked.

Everyone around the campfire cracked up. "It only took you eight weeks to catch on," Jack teased.

"Well, I'm shot for guitar for the night," Dutchy said, examining the pads of his fingers. "Yuck," he added, regarding the blisters.

"So what do we sing?" David yawned.

Before anyone could really think about it, one of the girls belted out the first line to one of the songs from _Joseph_. About half the remaining campers chimed ineveryone knew the words from having overheard the whole thing so many times. Jack nudged David, who sang along, first quietly, then louder and more confidently. Jack hummed a little, but hadn't learned the words the way the campers had; instead, he listened. Everyone was a little off, since there was no backup music and no one giving direction. But even through the cacophony, Jack noted one thing: David, when he wanted to, could really sing. And he seemed to know when to quiet down, sing harmony and let someone else take over; he kept the group together by carrying them when they started to fall apart; and in a few moments when he was singing solo, he sounded truly...

Well, he was biased. David probably wasn't perfect.

But still. He was pretty much excellent.

When the singing finally quoted, Mr. and Mrs. Higgins managed to convince everyone that, no matter how long they stayed away, morning was coming eventually, and got them all to head uphill towards bed. Jack held David's hand until the path up to the Higgins' house split off. "See you tomorrow," he murmured.

"Goodnight," David said.

Everyone was staring at them, but on the other hand, there were only friends around. No one who didn't pretty much know.

"Screw it," Jack muttered. He leaned down and kissed David quickly, then hurried after the Higginses up to the house.

"Was that really necessary?" Mrs. Higgins asked, though she didn't sound mad.

"Absolutely," Jack answered, grinning.

She sighed. "Boys," she muttered.

*

"Specs?"

"Hmm?" Specs asked. They were still sitting around in front of the remains of the campfire; a few of the counselors were. Dutchy had gotten up enough to put his guitar in its case, then sat down next to his boyfriend again.

"Your hair looks ridiculous," Dutchy said fondly. "Though you were a surprisingly hot Elvis."

"I know, right?" Specs laughed.

"Where'd the costume come from?"

"Evidently, Medda is friends with an Elvis impersonator."

Dutchy considered. "I'm not actually surprised to hear that."

Specs chuckled.

"I've been thinking," Dutchy added quietly. "About Sneakers and Paint. Getting married, man."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dutchy wrapped an arm around Specs's shoulders; Specs shifted to wrap one of his legs over Dutchy's. "Do you think you'd want to do that someday?"

"Marry Sneakers?"

"Get married, dork."

"Hm." Specs was quiet for a minute, then said, "Legality issues aside...I don't know. Do you mean to you, or like...in general?"

"In general. But I'd kind of like to be involved."

Specs chuckled. "I guess...Maybe somewhere down the line, yeah. I don't see myself with anyone else, anyway. Why? You proposing to me?"

"Nah," Dutchy said. "Just curious. We've been together for four years...I don't see myself with anyone else either, is all I'm saying." He glanced over at Specs, who smiled.

"Well, then," Specs said.

*

Smurf's family arrived to pick her up almost immediately after breakfast (which was a sad return to normal in terms of the kitchen's quality). Which meant it was time to say goodbye.

Well, not to her closest friendsArrow and Trixie were friends from home, after all. But the rest of the cabin...And to Blink. Who was now standing in front of her awkwardly.

"I can't believe it's our last summer," Blink said.

"Speak for yourself. I bet next year they'll have a junior counselor opening in sailing." She smirked. "Which I will definitely be going after."

"That's a great idea," he said, then, "But they only ever done one junior counselor in each unit. So I guess only one of us can be there for sailing."

"Yeah, it'll be me," she said confidently.

"What makes you think that?"

"I'm better than you are." She stuck out her tongue at him.

"You haven't won a race in years!" he answered.

"Well I _would_ have," she answered. "And _I've_ never concussed anyone. So there."

"Oh, yeah." He laughed, and she was glad they were still bickering. She'd have missed it if they'd stopped entirely.

"So...Um..." She looked at him nervously. "Are you my boyfriend or what?"

He gawked. "I guess," he finally said. "I mean, we've been making out non-stop for three days, so..."

She grinned, blushing. Her parents were waiting in the car, but she couldn't bring herself to hurry. Not even when her dad blared the horn. "Well, we only win a couple hours apart...that's like a ten-dollar bus ticket," she said.

"Yeah, we can visit a lot," he agreed. "And you've got my e-mail and screen name, so"

"_Elsie!_ Time to hit the road, honey!" Smurf's mom yelled out the window.

She shrugged at Blink. "I'd better go."

"Okay, yeah. Um, hey, I'll be online tonight, okay?"

"Me too," she promised. "Okay. Um. Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

"Elsie!"

"I'm coming!" she yelled back at the car, then looked up at Blink impatiently.

He grinned and gave her a big hug, then kissed her very quickly, not sure what her parents would think of it. She gave him a peck on the cheek, then clamored into her parents' car. As they pulled out, she twisted in her seat to see Blink standing in the parking lot, shading his eye, watching her go. He waved and she waved back.

She'd never had a boyfriend before.

*

David wasn't sure how he'd have gotten through the hassles of squishing a summer's worth of stuff into a trunk and a suitcase if his parents hadn't shown up with a giant-sized travel mug of coffee for him. But they managed to get everything smushed down into shape to travel, and dragged up to the parking lot. A camp van was also being filled for the kids who were flying home. David spotted Snitch, Swinger, and Swinger's little sister.

The rest of the cabin had walked up with him for a final round of goodbyes. Blink was just waiting for his dad, but was basically ready to go; Mush's family was negotiating who'd be sitting where in their mini-van; Skittery was helping his father move his stuff up to the car, while his sister and mother sat inside with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning cranked. Race, who didn't have to worry about packing so much, was just hanging out.

"So I guess this is it," David said.

"It was fun getting to know you."

Everyone blinked and stared. The speaker was Swinger.

"I didn't know you could speak English," David finally said.

"I've been speaking English all summer," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just..._specialized_ English."

"Why? And why are you talking like a normal person now?"

"Normal's boring," she said, hand on her hip. "And..." She looked at Snitch. "He dared me. He bet I couldn't do it for a whole summer. I won."

Snitch scowled momentarily.

"What did you win?"

"He has to streak at our first marching band practice." She grinned. "I'll take pictures and send them around."

"No thanks," Skittery muttered, joining the group, and everyone laughed.

"Hey, anyway," Snitch said. "I guess...Maybe I'll see you guys some time. I can't believe this is our last summer..."

David couldn't believe it either, even though it was his first.

"You know, guys," Race said. "My mom used to let my brother throw winter parties...invite back their friends for some skiing." He looked at David. "You know how to ski, Mouth?"

"Nope. But I bet I could learn."

"I'll see if I can make it happen."

"Kids?" Sneakers called from the camp van. "It's about time to go."

Everyone shuffled around for a minute, not sure what to say, and finally Jack leaned in. "The chat room will be called Pentland Grads. Be there tonight."

"You'll unchain David from his bedpost for long enough to say hi?" Mush asked.

"I'm not chaining him anywhere...while his parents are home." Jack smirked and David felt himself turn red.

"He's blushing! He likes it," Blink added.

"Okay, I'm leaving now," David declared, but he was laughing.

Unfortunately, he really did need to get going. His parents had the station wagon packed and were coaxing Les inside before he could go running off to say goodbye to more of his friends.

"See you, Dave."

"Have a good year, Dave."

"Bye, Mouth."

"Have a good trip, Mouth."

Racetrack raised an eyebrow. "Thanks again foreverything, Dave," he said. "Take care of Jack."

"I will." David smiled and held out a hand, but the next moment he found himself in the middle of a six-person hug. Slowly, people began to let goSnitch bounded off to the van, Skittery joined his family in their chilly car, and David and Jack made their way over to the station wagon.

David had already agreed to take the middle seatit let him sit next to Jack. He sighed as he fiddled with the awkward buckle and Jack strapped in next to him. He felt suddenly tiredsaying goodbye was never easy, and these were some of the first friends David knew he'd really miss. And besides, he'd been up late last night.

He watched the camp through the window as his dad pulled the wagon out and onto the long, twisty road that would eventually lead to the highway. He leaned against Jack's shoulder and sighed, but Jack began humming one of the campfire tunes. David smiled, then, thinking along with the lyrics.

_Mm-mm and as the years go by, mm-mm I'll think of you and sigh..._

He sang quietly, "Mm-mm, this is goodnight and not goodbye."

[Fini.]


End file.
